Man of the world, p.13
Man of the World, page 13
I’m not sure how long he plays with me, only that by the time he begins to work his way lower, I’m quivering with need. I can’t even be bothered to feel shy when he fumbles at the waistband of my shorts and I feel him sliding them down my thighs and off my legs, leaving me in nothing but my tiny white panties. I can’t be bothered to feel embarrassed when he traces his finger over the fabric and between my legs, where he must surely feel the heat and wetness that signal my desire for him. And whatever modesty I might have once possessed flies out the window when he settles himself between my legs and I feel the heat of his mouth as he kisses me through the thin lace.
“Has anyone ever gone down on you before?” he asks.
“No,” I gasp, wondering if he can hear the begging in my voice. I’ve had offers, of course, but it always felt like they came with strings, like I’d be expected to have sex in return, and I’ve always walked away before things went that far.
Now, if he goes down on me, I swear I will do whatever he wants.
“Time we did something about that, then.” He pulls back and even though I know he’s only going far enough away so that he can pull the last remaining scrap of fabric off my body, I miss the heat of him. He slides my panties off and then he’s kneeling between my legs, looking down at me. His hair is falling in his face, his eyes are dark, his half-open shirt has come untucked, and I can see his erection tenting his khaki shorts. For a moment we stare at each other.
“You’re overdressed,” I tell him.
In one fluid motion, he pulls his shirt off over his head and throws it somewhere, exposing his powerful shoulders and chest. Unable to keep my hands to myself any longer, I sit up and stretch my hands out across his beautiful chest, relishing the firm muscles under the smooth skin. I feel tiny and delicate next to him, but also safe and protected.
He catches my hands by the wrist. “Stop. You’re making me crazy.”
I can’t help laughing. “I’ve barely touched you. I want to touch you.”
His expression is deadly serious. “You will. But not yet. Let me make you come first.”
Once again, his words send a bolt of heat through me but that nagging suspicion that this will be an everything-but encounter returns. “I don’t want to just have an orgasm, I can use my vibrator for that. I want to have sex.”
A hint of a smile breaks through the serious expression. “We will,” he nods. “But I want you as relaxed and wet as possible when we do. Lie down.”
I like the way he gives orders. I think I might like to give him some orders, too. But first things first.
“You’re still overdressed.” I look significantly at his shorts and the straining erection therein.
“These are staying on until we’re ready to go all the way. Otherwise, I think I’m going to have a hard time staying focused. Now—lie down.”
I obey, surrendering with a smile.
He lies down between my legs, parting them with his strong hands, kissing my thighs until I’m wriggling with impatience and frustration.
“Please …” I breathe.
I can hear the smile in his voice. “I like the sound of that. Keep begging.”
“Oh, fine … please …”
Like an answer to a prayer, his mouth, hot, soft and wet, covers my opening, and his tongue begins to move in languid circles around my entrance, teasing and toying and driving up the heat until I can hardly stand it.
This is definitely better than a vibrator.
His tongue circles my clit, while a finger traces my folds then gently inserts itself into me. I make a noise halfway between a groan and a sigh as he begins to explore me with first one finger, then two, moving them in time to his tongue, which has already brought me halfway to heaven.
“Oh, this is … very nice,” I murmur.
In response, the fingers thrust a little harder, a little deeper. My desire ratchets up a notch. “Please …” I say again, though I’m not sure how much more he could be doing. The heat in my core is building, and I know it’s just a matter of time now—
Drew lifts his head for just a moment. “Come for me, baby,” he whispers, then sinks his mouth over me and his fingers into me, and I do, shuddering and gasping and fisting the sheets with one hand and his hair with the other.
Amazing.
Drew waits a few minutes for me to get my breath back, then pulls his long, strong body up over mine. He kisses me deeply, and the taste of myself on his lips is strangely erotic, as is the unfamiliar weight of his body on mine and the hardness, still imprisoned in those shorts, that presses between my legs.
I could happily curl up and go to sleep right now, but I haven’t forgotten what I brought him here for.
“You’re still overdressed,” I whisper in his ear.
“Not for much longer.” His voice is ragged now, primitive with desire, and I love the sound of it, knowing that it means he wants me. He rolls off me just long enough to take off his shorts and boxers, and my heart rate picks up again, as much now with nervousness as with need.
Shyly, I reach out and wrap my hand around his erection, stroking it slowly up and down. His size gives me some qualms; my thumb and forefinger barely meet around his girth, but we’ve made it this far, and I’m not backing out now. Beside me, Drew lets out a deep moan. I feel clumsy and inexperienced after his masterful performance, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“You sure you want to go through with this?” He grinds the words out through gritted teeth.
My heart is beating in my throat now, but I manage a nod. “Yes.”
“Thank God,” he replies.
I have a box of just-in-case condoms that I moved from the bathroom to my bedside table just before he came over, but before I can offer them, he’s found his shorts and pulled one out of the pocket. In a flash, he’s torn the packet open and sheathed himself. He rolls back on top of me, gently but firmly forcing my legs apart. I can feel his erection nudging my entrance, and I take a deep, steadying breath.
I can tell he’s just barely keeping himself under control, but he slows long enough to give me a gentle, lingering kiss. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, right?” he whispers.
I nod, wordless, and bite my lip as he sinks into me, gentle but relentless, and then he’s in, and moving in and out of me. I make a conscious effort to relax.
“Okay?” he gasps.
“Fine,” I reply.
The truth is that despite all Drew’s prep work, it’s actually a bit uncomfortable. Not agonizing, but nothing like the bliss that I experienced when he went down on me. I’m being stretched just to the point of actual discomfort and the sensation of him moving inside me is more strange than exciting.
“Can you pick your legs up?” he whispers in my ear. “Wrap them around my waist?”
I do, and he sinks deeper into me. It’s no strain on my legs, but I’m not sure if I like the feeling. The stretching sensation gets more intense and enjoyment eludes me. The gratified moan he gives makes the discomfort worthwhile, though.
I like knowing that he’s turned on … that I’m turning him on.
He steadies himself up on his forearms, pushing in and pulling out of me with long, deliberate strokes. I look up at him, noticing the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the hair that falls over his face, the expression on his face that looks like agony but isn’t. For the barest moment, our eyes meet and the physical intimacies of the evening suddenly pale next to that naked glance at each other’s souls.
Then he closes his eyes, shutting me out.
“I can keep going or I can finish now,” he breathes. I hardly recognize his strained, guttural voice. “Up to you.”
“Finish,” I breathe, physically exhausted and emotionally shaken by that shared look. I smile as I repeat his words back to me. “Come for me, baby.”
And he does, his thrusts growing faster and harder. It’s not pleasurable, but it’s bearable, and I do my best to relax into the experience. His muscular arms tighten around me as his body rocks into mine and his breath comes in short, sharp gasps.
It’s like being embraced by a hurricane.
I look up at him again as he comes, his expression contorted with ecstasy, his eyes carefully closed, then he sinks down onto me, burying his face in my neck.
For what feels like a long time, neither of us say anything. His body is heavy, but I like the solid, protective feeling of him against me
In the silence, I stroke his back. Next time, I want to touch him more.
Next time … I smile at the thought.
I think it will take some practice, but I’m pretty sure I could get used to it.
Finally, Drew breaks the silence. “Sorry, I must be crushing you.”
He rolls carefully off me and we lie next to each other, staring at the ceiling.
I feel his hand wrap around mine. “So …” he begins. His voice, no longer ragged with desire, is conversational now, laced with humor. For a moment, we were lovers, now we’re back to being friends. “You’ve been deflowered. What did you think?”
I let out a breath that I didn’t even realize I was holding and give his hand a grateful squeeze.
“That wasn’t awful at all.”
16
Drew
I wake up as the first rays of sunlight filter into the room. The digital clock on the bedside table reads 5:45. Normally, I’d be up and dressed and ready to go running. Instead, I stare at the ceiling and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.
Beside me, Carina is snuggled into the crook of my arm. I can hear her gentle breaths, and I carefully shift so that I can look at her. In the pale dawn light I can see her dark hair spread across the pillow, her full, barely parted lips, and the long, thick lashes that sweep her cheeks.
I wanted to know what she looked like wearing nothing but 400-thread count sheets, and I got more than I could have asked for.
Last night was sweet, touching … and hot. But I still feel an uncomfortable twist of guilt in my gut.
Now that the deed is done, in the cool light of morning, I start to regret not having the strength to leave her last night. Surely, she’ll regret this, if not immediately, then eventually. To have waited this long only to lose her virginity with a man who’s only here for the summer … it seems like kind of a waste, friends or not.
I should go, get back to my house now, before she wakes up. Yeah, it’s kind of a jerk move, leaving before she wakes up, but the longer I stay, the greater the risk that she’ll read more into this than she should. We can have The Talk later … in the light of day … with our clothes on. We’ll be rational and mature about it, I’ll reiterate that I’m not able or willing to commit to anything, I’ll let her decide if she wants to continue, and we’ll lay out ground rules for going forward, either as just friends, or friends with benefits.
Then my masculine pride gets in the way of my rational thinking. It went okay last night, but I know it could have been better for her, and I kind of don’t want to end things between us until I know she knows just how good it can be. I hope she’ll want this to be more than a one-time thing.
It should be a two-time thing, at least.
… Maybe three.
I suppress a groan.
Very slowly and carefully, I lift my arm from around her and start to inch away, but I don’t get far.
Beside me, she stirs. A hand slides up and over my chest, setting a cascade of butterflies loose in my stomach.
“Drew,” she murmurs. Eyes still closed, her face breaks into a sleepy smile. “You’re still here. I thought you would have gone by now.”
Her assumption that I’d leave annoys me even though that’s exactly what I was trying to do. “No, I’m still here,” I say. “Do you want me to leave?”
She snuggles closer and inhales deeply. “No, not really.”
Stupid question. Now I’m stuck.
But I’m not entirely unhappy about it.
“How’re you feeling?” I realize I’m nervous. What if she has regrets?
“Mmm …” She stretches, her eyes still closed. “Not bad. A little sore.”
Another twinge of guilt. “Sorry.”
She shakes her head and finally opens her eyes. “No, don’t be. It was really … nice. I think it’ll just take some getting used to, is all.”
And we’ve arrived at The Talk already.
Also, we have to be able to do better than “nice.”
“Yeah, about that … um, how do you want to … Do you still want the friends with benefits thing? You know …” I wave my free hand uselessly to encompass the two of us. “This.”
She rolls onto her back and stretches more. My chest feels cooler without her right next to me. She is silent for a moment, then says. “Well … I know I’m probably a bit, um, boring compared to what you’re used to …”
I can’t help a chuckle. “Gotta say, ‘boring’ isn’t a word I’d ever associate with you.”
I can hear a smile in her voice. “You know what I mean. I’m sure you’re used to girls who are a lot more … Who know what they’re doing. I’m an amateur.”
“No one’s expecting you to turn pro.”
She gives my arm a gentle slap in mock exasperation. “My point is, I think I might have more to gain from continuing this arrangement than you do. But if you’re up for it, I think I could use a little more tutoring.”
The thought of tutoring Carina in the arts of love causes the blood flow to my brain to redirect to my groin, and it takes me a moment to articulate a response.
The angel on my shoulder has taken a beating but is still struggling to get me to do something right. “I just … I want to reiterate that I’m still getting over my ex. It was a really crazy relationship. I like you, but I don’t … I can’t …”
“I know,” she says, sounding more awake now. “It’s cool. It’s what I wanted. I like that I can explore this with someone I like and trust without having to worry about where it’s all going and if it’s going to last … Does that make sense?”
It’s sweet. I’m flattered and honored and also curiously empty at the thought. “It makes sense,” I agree.
“Good.” That signature playfulness creeps back into her voice. “When’s our next lesson, professor?”
“Very soon, at the rate things are going.” I roll over and prop myself up on my elbows so that I can look her in the face. It’s the first time I’ve looked her directly in the eye since we … well, since last night. She looks away, bashful. “First I want to ask you something, though.”
She’s still smiling, but her eyes are wary as she glances back at me and then away again. “What?”
“You still owe me a proper explanation. How did a gorgeous girl with great social skills and no apparent hang-ups make it to her late twenties without having sex?”
“Ah, that.”
“Yeah, that.”
She bites her lip. The room is growing lighter and I can see her cheeks flush. “Well, I wouldn’t say I don’t have any hang-ups.”
I stroke a curl of hair away from her cheek. “Well, tell me about them, then. If I’m going to spend the summer having sex with another crazy girl, I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”
She smiles sheepishly but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “Fair enough.” She takes a deep breath and looks firmly at the ceiling, away from me. “So … guys find me kind of attractive …”
I give a light snort. “More than kind of, but go on.”
She gives me another playful swat then goes back to her story. “The things is, when you’re … beautiful, everyone seems to feel they’re entitled to a piece of you. I think not having sex was a way of keeping part of me for me.”
I narrow my eyes. It’s not the answer I would have expected. “What do you mean?”
“Well … I was thirteen when men started making passes at me. I don’t mean boys my own age or a bit older. I mean grown-up men, sometimes men my dad’s age. In some cases, I think maybe they didn’t realize how young I was, but in other cases, I think they didn’t really care.”
I can feel my expression darkening and my libido starts to flag at the idea of a little girl being put under that kind of scrutiny. “That’s … appalling. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
She shrugs. “Nothing really horrible ever happened, but it was weird and uncomfortable, and it scared me. Emotionally, I was kind of a late bloomer, which I guess is kind of ironic given that physically, I looked a lot older than I was. I wasn’t really into boys until way after most of my friends were, but I figured out that the easiest way to get guys to leave me alone was to tell them I had a boyfriend. So, I got into the habit of having imaginary boyfriends. Or sometimes I’d ask guy friends to pose as my boyfriend to get some other guy to leave me alone, and they’d go along with it because they’d feel chivalrous. But in the process, I got a reputation for actually having a lot of boyfriends.”
So that explains the betting pool at the wedding shower.
I frown, thinking back. “I don’t remember you having a boyfriend that summer in Evanston.”
She shakes her head. “No. I thought I could sort of start fresh in college, be more myself. But by that time, everyone else was much more experienced than I was, or at least it felt that way. I was at the hand-holding stage, and the guys I went out with were like, okay, we’ve been kissing for five minutes, let’s get naked.”
I try to remember how long we kissed last night before I carried her into the bedroom. I hope it was more than five minutes.
She continues. “So that kind of freaked me out, and I decided it was easier to go back to playing all these guys off each other. Everyone thought I was sleeping with someone else. And the longer I waited, the more defensive I felt every time I met a guy. The more pressure I felt for it to be perfect, you know, perfect guy, perfect time, perfect place …” Her voice trails off.
“So, how’d you end up with me?” I keep my voice light, but my chest tightens. I’m clearly not her perfect guy, nor do I want to be, but no one really wants to be the “not perfect” one.
