It was true. I didn’t know how he brought this out of me—an uncharacteristic boldness, where suddenly I was doing things, saying things I never thought I had in me. And yet every time he touched me I felt almost painfully exposed, laid completely bare in a way that made me want to hide away from it.
“See,” he said, curling one finger inside of me. “Me, I’m very shy. My heart’s beating so fast, even being with you like this.”
I pressed my hand against his bare chest. It really did feel like his heart was going a mile a minute. I touched his taut nipple with my fingertips, and he closed his eyes momentarily, his breath coming out in one ragged exhale.
“You had me against your front door,” I said. “I just gave you a blow job in the lobby of your auto shop. What else is there to feel shy about?”
“I know,” he said, stretching me with another finger. For some reason, the way we were carrying on a full conversation, the things we were talking about, made the fact that he was still touching me there, that I could hear the wet sounds of his fingers working inside me, seem all the more explicit. “I’m just still getting used to asking for what I want.”
“And what’s that?” It came out half whisper, half whine as he brushed against my clit.
“I want to fuck you slow,” he said. “Please don’t get me wrong—I loved the car, and downstairs, all of it. But I want to take my time with you.”
He was already taking such sweet, delicious time. He was touching me but with no particular urgency, like he had all night to spend just with his hand down my shorts.
“Yes,” I said on a gasp as he pressed into me. “Yes, I want that.”
“What else?” he said. “What else do you want? Don’t be shy, Jess, not with me. If there’s something that would make you feel good, I want to do it.”
It was hard to even think, when he was touching me like that. I was tempted to sayKeep doing what you’re doingorI like all of it.But I knew that he wanted a real answer. He wantedsomething specific, a fantasy I trusted him with, given freely so he could give it back.
“I liked when you held my wrists,” I said. “In the car.”
I’d crossed my hands above my head, confirming what I wanted him to do, and he pinned my wrists to the bed with one strong hand. “Oh yeah?”
He tugged my shirt up over my breasts, exposing me before he went back to stroking his fingers inside me. Something about all of that—the pressure of him holding me down, the cool air hitting the tight buds of my nipples, the brief pinch he gave my clit—almost made me come right then. But he withdrew his fingers, sliding them over my mouth, painting my own wetness onto my lower lip.
“Not yet,” he said, swiping his finger along the bow of my top lip now. “I told you, I want to take my time.”
He played with me like that for an agonizingly long while, bringing me close to the edge and then backing off, keeping me pinned down to the bed while he kissed me and sucked my nipple and nuzzled against my neck. Sometimes it would build to be almost too much sensation, overwhelming me with its intensity, until he changed position or tempo and then suddenly I’d be hyperaware of that one part he was touching.
“I liked when you came on my fingers,” he said. “In the car. I liked the way you pulsed around me.”
“Oh,fuck.” I could feel it fluttering now, and on instinct I went to move my arms, to reach for him, but he was too strong, holding me down. When the orgasm rolled through me, I couldn’t do anything to stop it, couldn’t pull him closer or hide away, though a part of me wanted to.
I was still trembling from the aftershocks when he finally let go of my wrists, giving them a quick rub before he reached to pull my shorts down my legs.
“Mark me,” I said. “I want to know you were here, that you had me like this.”
I barely knew what I was saying, but he put his open mouth on my inner thigh and sucked hard, until I felt the nip of his teeth, a soothing kiss pressed to the love bite he left behind. Then he licked me where I was the most wet, flicking his tongue against my swollen, sensitive clit. I couldn’t help but buck my hips a little, letting out a low moan.
“Still feeling good?” he asked.
It felt incredible. But in a way where I didn’t know if I could take it, like I’d already climbed a mountain and was like, all right, that’s enough of that, but then there was this taller mountain in the distance and suddenly I changed my mind. Now I wantedthat.
I squeezed my thighs around his ears in answer, encouraging him to keep going. He licked and sucked until that tingling started at the base of my spine again and another wave passed over me, pulling me under. I felt boneless, spent-heavy and yet made of air, as Eamonn moved up my body, holding my thighs open and pushing into me. It was such an exquisitely slow slide, I felt every inch of him, and it didn’t make me come again so much as I think I was technically still coming from before.
Eamonn tugged the shirt over my head, as though he didn’t care if he already had full access to my body, he wanted me naked and underneath him in his bed. He moved inside me, that deliberate, undemanding pace somehow creating themost intense pressure as he leaned over me, his hands gently encircling my wrists before he dropped them again. He murmured something near my ear, but my hair was in the way and I couldn’t be sure I’d heard him right. Something likeYou’re ruining me. You’ve ruined me. You ruin me.I wondered which one it was, if any of them, whether it mattered.
“Eamonn,” I said, and his rhythm broke as he tightened inside me. I’d never been one to say someone’s name during sex—if anything, I usually went out of my way tonotsay the person’s name, it just felt too weird and direct and vulnerable. But I wanted to say his, knew that I could get him to react just by using it. I loved his name.
I clutched his back, wrapped my legs around him to squeeze. “Eamonn,” I said again. “You can come inside me, if you want.”
“Fuck,” he said. “Ah, fuck.”
He thrust into me harder, faster, my breasts bouncing as he pressed me into the mattress, then flattening against him as his whole body shuddered and he sank onto me with a low, guttural moan. He lay like that on top of me for a minute before he withdrew, and I was surprised when I felt his fingers slide inside me again, spreading his own come over my clit.
I’d assumed we were done—I’d already had more orgasms in a twenty-four-hour period than I ever had before, and the fact that I hadn’t had one directly from penetrative sex wasn’t surprising. That had always been hit or miss for me. But now warmth was pooling in my belly, and I was shocked by how much I instantly wanted to come again. From his touch—the slick, hot friction. From how dirty it felt that he was even doing it.
