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I can feel the spilt tea soaking through my shirt, the sugar I used mak
ing my skin sticky. At the very least I can invite him in and talk to him. That’s all that has to happen. Maybe if I explain what happened with Bryan he’ll understand why I came to the class, and why I can’t jump in with someone who's bound to treat me the same way. And if I’m going to have this conversation, I’m going to do it in a clean shirt.
I point towards my house. “I live right there. Do you want to come in for a second? I’ll explain, and have the chance to clean up.”
“I’d love that,” he says.
I finally manage to find my keys, which is what had started this whole situation. I wonder what I would have done if I hadn’t been digging in my bag and had just seen him coming towards me. Would I have hidden behind a tree or something? Part of me hopes I’d have enough pride not to do that. The other part of me knows that’s exactly what I would have done. There’s the tiniest part of me that’s thinking that just going and hiding behind a tree until he goes away might still work, but I’m not crazy enough to try.
My house is split into two separate apartments, and I have the top floor. One of the reasons I liked it when I moved in was the proximity to people in an emergency, but also the privacy or a separate entrance.
Philip follows me up the stairs and I’m acutely aware of how close his body is behind me. I cast my eyes around my apartment, making sure there isn’t anything too messy piled up. Once I’m sure I’m not going to be mortified, I let him in and let him follow me into the kitchen. I dump my bags onto a chair and head towards my bedroom. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a second.”
I tear off the shirt covered in tea, quickly replacing it with another t-shirt—I make sure it’s one of my cute ones. I glance in the mirror, lamenting my lack of make-up while simultaneously chiding myself for wanting to put on make-up for him. I run my fingers through my hair a couple times, resigning myself to my post gym look as I hear him say something from the kitchen. It’s muffled and I don’t catch it.
Deciding to call my hair a loss, I grab a hair tie, twisting it up into a ponytail while I go back into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”
He grins. “I asked why you kept the dildo.”
The question takes me off guard, and I feel myself freeze up, feel my face go pink with embarrassment. ‘I kept the dildo because I was afraid I’d plaster my body against yours if I got close enough to put it back’ is not an acceptable answer. Subject change…now. “Do you want something to drink?” I go to the fridge, deciding avoidance is the best choice. “I’ve got water, soda, coffee, tea.”
“I’m fine. Thanks,” he says. I grab a water bottle from the fridge, and when I turn around he’s right there. “Why did you keep it?” His voice is a low rumble that I feel in my bones, and I curse my body for responding—for loving it.
He’s very bad at changing the subject. I can’t seem to find my voice, and when I do grasp my words, I stumble over them. “It was an accident. I meant to put it back, and then everything happened and I forgot and—”
He takes a step closer to me and my voice fails. It feels like déjà vu. I’m so aware of the distance between him and me that the sound of his voice feels like a caress on my skin. “You didn’t have to go so far to imagine what I would feel like.”
“I didn’t—that’s not why—” the connection between my brain and my words has short circuited. I can barely breathe, let alone speak.
“That’s not what I wanted,” he says, “when I told you imagine me.”
I lean back against the refrigerator, letting it support my weight. “What did you want?”
“To take you home with me.” He smiles, reaching for my hand, entwining our fingers. “Guess that didn’t work out too well.”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. “I know. I’m sorry—I can explain.”
In another déjà vu, he lifts my wrist to his lips, and I can tell he’s doing it to remind me exactly where we left off, and where we have the possibility of going. “You don’t have to apologize or explain anything. But I want you to know that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and you don’t have to imagine anything.”
“Oh?” My voice is shaky, and every reason I wanted this comes rushing back.
“I’m here now, and I’m the real thing.” His smile is wicked, promising to give me everything that a toy can’t. “You don’t have to hold back with me.” He pulls me against his body, and I love the way he feels against me—solid and firm. Seeing him naked is going to be glorious.
My body has already made its decision, but my mind is a heartbeat slower. They’re almost never on the same page, but it would be helpful if they could work together just this once. Philip said one thing that Bryan used to say. That’s it. It’s not fair to paint him with that brush when I don’t know him. And I don’t even have to know him. I want him—I want this. I want to take this chance to feel something good and take a step forward.
“Do you want me to explain why I left?”
His fingers slide up my side, and I fight the urge to lean into his touch as his hand cups the back of my neck. “Is it going to make you leave again?” he asks.
I search inside myself for a second, seeking out any remaining hesitation and find none. I’ve made my choice. “No,” I say. “I want you.”
“Then I’m yours.”
He pulls my lips to his, and the feeling that sweeps through me is like falling and flying or somewhere in-between. That burning desire that I’ve had running through me comes roaring back to life, and I can feel myself melting against him. His hands sweep down my back and press me against him, and just like yesterday, I can feel how hard he is. I wrap my arms around his neck, consumed by the feeling that I’m not close enough. I don’t remember the last time I felt this kind of raw need. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s here and the only thing that will fix it is the touch of his skin.
I break away from him just long enough to pull him through the door and into the living room. I know what I want—I want to own his pleasure—and I’m not going to own it in the kitchen. He doesn’t stop touching me, even while I’m guiding him. His fingers are on my hips keeping me close, his lips leaning down to brush my neck. Every new place he finds sends delicious echoes along my skin, and I find myself smiling. I haven’t been this happy since…since what I’m intentionally not going to think about right now. For longer than I like to remember.
I push Philip down onto the couch, straddling him before he can make a move. The hardness of his cock is pushing up against me and the pressure on my clit is driving me crazy. My hips are moving on their own, pressing harder onto him while I kiss him. He groans, and I smile against his lips. I love that he’s just as turned on as I am. I love making him feel that way—and I know exactly how to make it even better. After all, he gave me a roadmap.
His hands are already at my hips, and I guide him to the hem of my shirt, lean into him while he strips it off me. This time it’s him who breaks away. He takes his time with my bra, caressing my skin while undoing the clasps and pulling off the straps. He finishes removing the bra, and I watch his eyes as he takes me in. I’ve never been fully comfortable in my skin, and someone like him seeing me naked would normally make me break out into a cold sweat. But the way he’s looking at me, I’ve never felt sexier. Philip slides his hands up my ribs and I enjoy every inch of contact. He keeps going until he’s cupping my breasts, the roughness of his fingers making me shiver as he plays with them. I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of stroking, pinching, squeezing. I never knew that my breasts could feel so much. Bryan never liked playing with them unless—
I shut the thought down, opening my eyes just as Philip puts his mouth on me. I gasp at the unexpectedness of it. His tongue flicks over my nipple and it feels like he’s licking me elsewhere, long tendrils of pleasure uncurling under my skin. He moves to my other breast, leaving my nipple hard and aching in his wake. There’s not much I want right now other than to feel his lips on my skin, and I
’ll let him have his turn, but first I have a plan.
I pull away from him, sliding down his body, down onto my knees. I see the realization of what I have planned hit him, and he starts to protest. “Mayra, you don’t have to—”
“This is your favorite, right?” I cut him off. I run my hands down his chest, waiting for his response.
I see his throat move as he swallows. “Yes.”
“Let me do this for you,” I say, before he can say anything else. “After all, you said you’d give me a private lesson.”
He watches me as I undo his belt and unzip his jeans. “I did say that.”
“So teach me,” I say. “Tell me what to do while my mouth is on you.”
I can’t keep myself in check anymore, and I reach out to touch his cock. Even through the fabric of his underwear I can feel how rigid he is, and I can’t help but wonder how much like the dildo he actually is. Philip takes the final step, pulling his cock out of his underwear. He was modest, saying that the dildo was almost his size. He’s longer and thicker, though the gentle curve is remarkably similar. I remember how little of the dildo I was able to fit in my mouth, and wonder if this will be the same. If I can’t, and I’m as bad at this as Bryan says I am, then Philip isn’t in for a terribly pleasant experience.
I shake free of those thoughts, remembering what Philip said about his perfect blowjob. Confidence and eagerness were at the top of list. I reach out again, taking him in my hand. I run my fingers over his skin, teasing him, tracing his veins from the top and circling his head with my fingers. Remembering his hands on me as I jerked off that dildo, I blush, but right at this moment, I’m glad he did it. I close my fist around him, pulling along him from base to tip, just like he showed me. Philip’s head falls back against the couch, and he groans. “That feels amazing, Mayra,” he says, and even though I’m blushing, a burst of pleasure and pride sparks inside me.
