AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You like that,” he says.
I mewl. Like a cat. And his grin is so smug, I reach up to give him a playful smack, but he changes the angle of his fingers inside me and I end up yanking him closer by the hair, kissing him so hard that our teeth knock together and I bite my tongue. I don’t care. Not with West’s thumb circling my clit, over and over, just a little too hard, which turns out to be how I like it.
Not with his fingers moving in and out of my body, a steady rhythm that fractures me into a thousand desperate, craving pieces.
“That’s my girl,” he says, when I have to turn my face away because I can’t concentrate on kissing, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but buck against his hand, senseless as an animal. “Just like that. ”
When I come, it’s terrible. This low gathering tension winds and winds until I think I’ll die, and then I do die, I do, and it feels so amazing that it hurts. West stays with me right through it, watches me, eases me down, and now I can feel the rush of it, the part that’s all pleasure in one big push, a wave, a wake, a wave, until it’s grabbed me everywhere, pulled me in and let me go.
I float.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, when I can speak again. My voice is faint. Sweat has gathered at my elbows, in my armpits, at my temples. The wetness between my legs has spread down my thighs, and I’m conscious of the smell of sex.
Nate called it “that fish smell” once. He joked about it.
Fuck you, Nate, I think faintly, but there’s no rancor in it. I honestly don’t care.
I feel so good.
It wasn’t like this with Nate. I came, but it was a goal that had to be reached. An obstacle to be laboriously climbed toward so that we could move on to the next thing, and then the next. It was never this … this bliss, this shared thing West and I make between us, a natural outcome of our being together rather than the product of our dogged efforts.
“Hey, where’d you go?”
West is propped on one elbow beside me, his hand flat on my stomach, resting. Poor hand, it must be exhausted. I give it a pat, then link our fingers together. He smiles and lets his elbow slide, settling onto the mattress. I’m too tired to do anything but look at him. His face, his chest, his stomach, his briefs, dark gray with their intriguing bulge and an even more intriguing wet spot.
I’ve never touched him there. I’ve been afraid to, always afraid that there are rules and I don’t know them. Like if I wait long enough, someone will give me a book called How To Touch West’s Penis, and I can study it until I’m confident. An expert.
Enough of that. In this bed, this cocoon, I’m allowed to reach out for him. To enjoy the sharpness of his inhale, his lowering eyelids, his lip caught between his teeth.
I’m allowed to trip my fingers down his happy trail, shimmy closer so we’re belly to belly, my breasts pressing into his chest, my hand flat, slipping inside his underwear and investigating what I find.
Hard. Hot. Big—oh my gosh.
“You are like a furnace,” I say, and he laughs.
I think it’s supposed to be a laugh. He sounds like he hurts. I want to make it better.
I tighten my hand and stroke experimentally, watching his face to see if it’s okay. If I’m okay, doing this. It’s not my first go-round on this rodeo, but I don’t want to be inept. I want to give him what he gave me.
When I stroke again, his mouth opens, his head falling back.
Okay, then. That seems to work, so I do it until he makes this noise that I guess, officially, is a grunt, but it’s so sexy I could die. I find the wet spot at the head of his penis, slide my palm over it, slick it downward. West’s hand is there suddenly, rudely shoving past mine, gripping himself tight.
“I’m—do you want me to—”
“You’re perfect,” he says. “Fucking perfect. Keep doing that. ”
So I do the same thing a few more times, stroking and spreading, making him slippery. He starts to push up into my hand, hard and then harder, flags of color rising in his cheeks. I love that. I watch him, eager for more signs that he likes it, likes this. I kiss him, wanting to push him off a cliff like he did to me, but he can’t kiss.
He’s turned crap at it, I guess because he can’t concentrate.
That makes me smile.
My hand speeds up. His face is hard and fierce and gorgeous.
“Caroline. ” He covers his eyes with his forearm, and the hand that’s in his shorts grips mine, guiding me into a rhythm, a grip that’s tighter and more cruel than anything I’d have dared on my own. “Just like that, honey. Don’t stop. I’m gonna come, don’t stop. ”
I can’t decide what to watch, so I watch everything. Our hands working together. The head of his penis peeking out between them, his hips lifting off the bed, the helplessness in his face when he comes, wetting our hands, my hip, his stomach. I listen to him groan, feel his body lift up underneath me, dirty and sexy and glorious.
