Beautiful Player

by Christina Lauren

  “I’m so wound up around you,” she said quietly.

  “Just me?” I asked, smiling.

  She shrugged. “I want you . . . to teach me things. Not just about how to be around guys but how to . . . be with a guy. I think about it all the time. And I know you’re comfortable doing this stuff without being in a relationship, and . . .” She trailed off, looking up at me in the dark room. “We’re friends, right?”

  I knew with absolute certainty where this was going, and murmured, “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

  “You don’t know what I’m asking.”

  Laughing, I whispered, “So ask.”

  She stepped a little closer, put her hand on my chest, and I closed my eyes as her warm palm slid down to my stomach. I wondered for a beat if she could feel my heart hammering all the way down my torso. I felt my pulse everywhere, slamming through my chest and all along my skin.

  “I watched another movie,” she said. “A porny one.”

  “I see.”

  “Those movies are actually pretty bad.” She said this quietly, as if she was worried she might be offending my male, porn-loving sensibilities.

  With a quiet laugh, I agreed, “They are.”

  “The women are so over-the-top. Actually,” she said, considering, “so are the guys for most of it.”

  “Most of it?” I asked.

  “Not at the end,” she said, her voice dropping to barely a decibel. “When the guy came? He pulled out of her and did it on her.” Her fingers moved beneath my shirt, tickling over the line of hair that went from my navel and beneath the waist of my pants. She sucked in a breath, running her hand up higher and over my pectorals, exploring.

  Fuck. I was so worked up I could barely keep my hands from reaching for her hips. But I wanted her to lead this conversation. She’d pulled me in here, started this. I wanted her to get it all out before she turned it over to me. And then I wouldn’t hold back.

  “That’s pretty common in porn,” I said. “The guys don’t come inside the women.”

  She looked up at me. “I liked that part.”

  I felt myself grow rigid in my pants, and swallowed thickly. “Yeah?”

  “I liked it because it felt real. I feel like I’m just figuring these things out. I haven’t really tried before . . . or maybe I haven’t wanted to explore it with the guys I’ve been with. But ever since I started hanging out with you, I can’t stop thinking about these things. I want to figure out what I like.”

  “That’s good.” I winced in the dark room, wishing I hadn’t answered so quickly, sounded so desperate. I wanted more than anything for her to ask me to carry her over to the bed and fuck her so loud the entire party knew where we’d gone and what she was getting.

  “I don’t really know what feels good to men. I know you say guys are easy, but they aren’t. To me, they aren’t.” She took my hand, and with her eyes trained on my face, she brought it to her breast. Beneath my palm, she was exactly how I’d imagined a hundred fucking times. So full and soft, all lush curves and creamy skin. It was all I could do to keep from lifting her, and crushing her between my body and the wall.

  “I want you to show me how,” she said.

  “What do you mean ‘show you how’?”

  She closed her eyes for a beat, swallowing. “I want to touch you, and make you come.”

  I took a deep breath and glanced over at the bed in the middle of the room. “Here?”

  She followed the path my eyes had taken, and shook her head. “Not there. Not a bed yet. Just . . .” She hesitated and then very quietly asked, “Are you saying yes?”

  “Um, of course I’m saying yes. I’m not sure I could say no to you even if I should.”

  She bit back a smile, slid my hand down to her hip.

  “You want to give me a hand job? Is that what you’re asking?” I bent my knees to look her in the eyes. I felt like an asshole being so blunt, and this whole conversation felt completely surreal, but I had to be clear what was actually happening before I let go of my tenuous self-control and took it too far. “I’m just making sure I understand.”

  She swallowed again, suddenly shy, and nodded. “Yeah.”

  I stepped closer and when the light botanical smell of her shampoo hit me, I grew aware of how amped up I was. I’d never been nervous before, but right then I was terrified. I didn’t care so much about how good it was for me—it could be awkward and fumbling, too slow or fast, too soft or too hard—I knew I’d fall apart in her hands. I just wanted her to keep feeling this open with me, every second. I wanted sex to be fun for her.

  “It’s okay to touch me,” I told her, trying to carefully balance my need to be gentle with my tendency to be demanding.

  She reached for my belt, unfastening it, and I moved my fingers from her hips, sliding up her waist to the top button of her shirt. Her smile was giddy, and she tried to duck her head to hide it but failed. I had no idea what I looked like, but I imagined my eyes were wide, mouth parted, hands shaking on her tiny buttons. Slipping her shirt from her shoulders, I noticed the way she hesitated on my fly, fingers unsure, before she moved away to let her shirt fall to the floor.

  She stood in front of me in a simple white cotton bra. I reached behind her, meeting her eyes for permission before I unclasped it and slid it from her arms.

  I’d been unprepared for the sight of her naked chest, and stood staring, dumbly.

  “Just so you know,” she whispered, “you don’t have to do anything to me.”

  “Just so you know,” I said, just as quietly, “keeping my hands to myself would be impossible right now.”

  “I want to pay attention. You might . . . distract me.”

  I groaned; she was killing me. “Such a good student,” I said, leaning to kiss the juncture of her shoulder and neck. “But there’s no way I can stand here and not look at these. You may have noticed I’m a bit obsessed with your chest.”

  Her skin was soft and smelled amazing. I opened my mouth, bit her gently, testing. She gasped and pressed into me, the best fucking reaction. My mind flooded with images of her nails digging into my back, my mouth open and pressing hard and hungrily into her breast as I rocked over her.

  “Touch me, Hanna.” I lifted the weight of her breast in my hand, pushed it higher, squeezing. Holy fuck, she’s edible.

  She’d moved her hands back to my fly, but they remained there, unmoving. “Show me how to do this?”

  It was probably the hottest thing I’d ever heard a woman say. Maybe it was the tone of her voice, a little hoarse, a lot hungry. Maybe it was knowing how accomplished she was, and this one task felt so far out of her comfort zone but she’d asked me to help. Or maybe it was simply that I was wild for her, and showing Hanna how to pleasure me made me feel like I was telling the universe, This one belongs to me.

  I moved her hands to the waist of my jeans, and together we worked them and my boxers down my hips, freeing my cock between us.

  I let her look at me while I lifted both hands to slide her hair behind her neck, leaning in to kiss her throat. “You taste so fucking good.” I was so hard I felt my pulse hammering along my length. I needed relief from this tension. “Shit, Hanna, wrap your hand around me.”

  “Show me, Will,” she pleaded, running both hands over my stomach and down, just barely touching where the tip of my cock strained, erect. We looked down the length of our bodies and swayed slightly in unison.

  I took her warm hand, wrapped it around the middle of my shaft and slid it down and then back up, groaning a long, drawn-out “Fuuuck.”

  She moaned quietly—a tight, excited sound—and I almost broke. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut, leaned down again to kiss a line up her neck, and guided her. It was so slow. I hadn’t had a hand job in forever, and would take head or sex over a hand one hundred percent of the time, but this, right here, was perfect.

  Her lips were so fucking close to mine. I could feel her breath, could taste her candy-sweet plum drink.

&
nbsp; “Is it weird that I’m touching you here and we haven’t even kissed yet?” she whispered.

  I shook my head, looking down to where her fingers wrapped around me. I swallowed, could barely think. “There’s no right or wrong here. No rules.”

  She lifted her eyes from where she’d been staring at my mouth. “You don’t have to kiss me.”

  I gaped at her. I’d wanted to kiss her for weeks now. “Shit, Hanna, yes. I do.”

  Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. “Okay.”

  I bent low, hovering so close, moving her hand up and down my length, and just taking her in. Her lips were a breath away from mine, her little sounds coming out whenever she reached the head of my cock and I let out a grunt. It felt too good to be just a hand job. And all of this was suddenly too intimate to be just friends.

  I looked at her eyes, and then her mouth, before moving that last inch to kiss her.

  She was so fucking sweet and warm, our first kiss was unreal: just a slide of my lips over hers, asking: Let me do this. Let me do this and be gentle and careful with every part of you. I kissed her a few times, full lips, careful kisses so she knew I’d take this as fucking slowly as she needed me to.

  When I opened my mouth just enough to suck on her bottom lip, a thrill ran through me at the sound of her tight moan. Christ, I wanted to lift her up, fuck her mouth with my tongue, and take her against the wall, with the party raging outside and my eyes on her face, watching her process every single sensation.

  When she pulled back, she studied my mouth, my eyes, my forehead. She studied me; I couldn’t tell if it was a general fascination with what she was learning, or specific to this moment, to me. But nothing would have pulled me out of my trance. Not fireworks outside, or a fire in the hall. My need to someday be inside her—to completely possess her—spiked through me and planted beneath my ribs, pressing.

  “You’ll tell me if this is lame, right?” she asked, voice quiet.

  I laughed, wheezing. “Oh, it’s not lame. It’s so fucking good, and it’s just your hand.”

  Looking unsure, she asked, “Do . . . others not do this?”

  I swallowed thickly, hating the mention of other women right now. Before, I’d almost wanted them to be a lingering presence, a reminder to all parties what was and wasn’t happening in a moment like this. With Hanna, I wanted to wipe their shadows from the wall. “Shh.”

  “I mean, do you usually just have sex?”

  “I like what we’re doing. I don’t want something else right now; will you just focus on the dick in your hand?”

  She laughed, and I pulsed in her palm, loving the sound. “Fine,” she whispered. “I just have to start with the basics.”

  “I like that you want to learn how to touch me.”

  “I like touching you,” she murmured against my mouth. “I like that you’re showing me.”

  We were moving faster together now; I showed her how hard to squeeze, letting her know it was okay to hold on tight and that I needed it to start getting faster and harder than she’d expected.

  “Squeeze it,” I whispered. “I like it pretty hard.”

  “It doesn’t hurt?”

  “No, it’s fucking killing me.”

  “Let me try.” She gently pushed my arm away with her free hand.

  It freed me to cup her breasts, and I bent down to suck one nipple into my mouth, blowing lightly over the peak.

  She moaned, her rhythm slowing for a moment before she sped up again. “Can I keep doing this until you finish?” she asked.

  I laughed quietly into her skin. She had me practically vibrating, struggling to not lose it every time she slid her hand down and over the head of my cock. “I was kind of counting on that.”

  I sucked on her neck, closing my eyes and wondering if she’d let me mark her there, so I could see it tomorrow. So everyone could. All around me the world seemed to spin. Her hand felt good, of course, but the reality of her absolutely rocked me. The smell and taste of her smooth, firm skin, her sounds of pleasure simply from touching me. She was sexual and responsive and curious, and I wasn’t sure I’d been this turned on in a long, long time.

  The familiar tension built deep in my belly, and I began to rock forward in her grip. “Hanna. Oh, shit, just a little faster, okay?” The words felt so much more intimate this way: spoken into her skin, my breath ragged.

  She faltered for only a second before responding, pulling harder and faster, and I was close—embarrassingly soon—and I didn’t give a single fuck. Her long, slim fingers wrapped tight around me and she let me suck on her bottom lip, her jaw, her neck. I knew she would taste good everywhere.

  I wanted to show her how it felt to be fucked.

  With that thought, of falling over her and into her, making her come with my body, I leaned into her, begged her to bite me, bite my neck my shoulder . . . anything. I didn’t care how it sounded; somehow I knew that she wouldn’t balk, or recoil from the reality of this admission.

  Without hesitation, she leaned in, opened her mouth on my neck, and pressed her teeth sharply into me. My thoughts blurred, everything flashed hot and wild; for a moment it felt like every synapse in my body had rewired, unplugged, gone off. Her hand slipped over me fast, my orgasm barreling down my spine and I came with a quiet groan, the heat crawling up my spine and pouring from me into her hand and over her bare stomach.

  Just when I needed her to, she stopped moving but didn’t let go. I could feel her eyes on where she held me in her hand, and I jerked when she moved down my length again, experimentally.

  “No more,” I gasped, my voice tight.

  “Sorry.” She slid the thumb of her free hand over where I’d come on her palm, rubbed it over her hip, eyes wide and fascinated. She was breathing so hard her chest jerked with the movement.

  “Holy shit,” I exhaled.

  “Was it . . . ?” The room seemed full with her unfinished question and the sound of my heavy breathing. I felt a little dizzy, and wanted to pull her down onto the floor with me and pass out.

  “That was fucking unreal, Hanna.”

  She looked up at me, almost triumphant with discovery. “I was right—you made the best noise when you came.”

  The world dropped into an abyss when she said that, because here I was, growing soft in her hand, and all I wanted was to find out whether doing that to me had made her wet.

  I bent forward and asked, “Is it my turn now?” into the soft skin of her neck.

  With a trembling breath, she whispered, “Yes, please.”

  “Do you want my hands?” I asked. “Or do you want something else?”

  She let out a little nervous laugh. “I’m not really ready for more, but . . . I don’t think hands work on me.”

  I leaned back enough to give her my most skeptical look, unbuttoning the top button of her jeans and just daring her to stop me.

  She didn’t.

  “I just mean I don’t know if I can get off with fingers, like, just inside,” she clarified.

  “Well, of course you can’t get off just with fingers inside. Your clit isn’t inside.” I slid my hand beneath her cotton underwear and froze at the sensation of soft, bare skin. “Uh, Hanna? I did not peg you as a waxer.”

  She wiggled a little, embarrassed. “Chloe was talking about it. I was curious. . . .”

  I slipped a finger between her lips—holy fuck, she was drenched. “Jesus Christ,” I groaned.

  “I like it,” she admitted, her mouth pressed against my neck. “I like how it feels.”

  “Are you fucking kidding? You’re so fucking soft; I want to lick up and down every part of this.”

  “Will . . .”

  “I’d have my mouth on you in two seconds if we weren’t in some random guy’s bedroom.”

  She shivered under my touch, letting out a quiet moan. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined that.”

  Holy hell. I felt myself lengthen between us again, already. “I think you’d melt like sugar
on my tongue. What do you think?”

  She laughed a little, holding on to my shoulders. “I think I’m melting now.”

  “I think you are. I think you’re going to melt all over my fucking hand and I’ll lick it off after. Are you loud, little Plum? When you come are you wild?”

  A tiny choking sound escaped before she whispered, “By myself I’m not loud.”

  Fuck. That’s what I wanted to hear. I could build fantasies for a decade just thinking about Hanna, legs spread on her couch or while she was lying in the middle of her bed, touching herself.

  “By yourself, what do you do? Just the clit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With a toy or . . . ?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “I bet I can make you come like this,” I said, and slid two fingers carefully inside, feeling her squeeze me. I brushed my nose against hers. “Tell me. Do you like my fingers here? Fucking you?”

  “Will . . . you’re so dirty.”

  I laughed, nibbling at her jaw. “I think you like dirty.”

  “I think I’d like your dirty mouth between my legs,” she said softly.

  I groaned, moved my hand faster and harder into her.

  “Do you think about it?” she asked. “Kissing me there?”

  “I have,” I admitted. “I think about it and wonder if I’d ever come up for air.”

  So wet. She was wiggling all over my hand, making these little desperate sounds I wanted to eat. I pulled my fingers out, ignoring her angry little growl, and with them painted a wet line up her chin and across her lips, following almost immediately with my tongue, covering her mouth with mine.

  Fuuuck.

  She tasted all woman, soft and heady, and her tongue was still sticky sweet from her girly drink. She tasted like plum, ripe and soft and small in my mouth, and I felt like a fucking king when she begged me to touch her more, again, please Will I was close.

  Returning to her, I shoved her pants and underwear all the way down her legs, waiting as she stepped out of them. She was completely naked and my arms were shaking with the need to slide inside her perfect, warm heat.