We both suck in a breath at the sametime.
It twitched. I didn’t know it could do that. Just from me touching it. Like it has its own opinions about me.
“Can I lick it?” I hear myself say.
His hand lands on my shoulder. “Do you want this to be over immediately?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Mackie, if you put your mouth on me right now I will last about three seconds. I’ve been waiting weeks for this, so please, I am asking you?—”
I pull him down onto the bed. “Do you have condoms?”
He reaches for his nightstand, pulling out a box of condoms still sealed in plastic.
“Unopened?” I ask.
He blushes harder. “I bought them after our first date. Just in case.”
“That’s very responsible of you.” I tear the box open and hand him one. He rips the packet. I watch him roll it on with hands that fumble slightly. I’m filled with a weird mix of fascination and absolute terror. This is actually happening. Right now, on this bed. I’m not sure if I’m more nervous about it hurting or him finding out that it’s actually my first time.
He pulls me over him, hands gentle on my hips, and I hover there looking down at him. His hair is a disaster. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes are incredibly blue as he stares up at me.
“Ready?” he asks softly.
I reach down and guide him to my entrance. Just the press of him there makes me tense. I sink down slowly. Just an inch. Then another. Then the rest, because I’m tired of prolonging the anticipation and?—
Oh. Oh god. That’s a lot. My whole body is screaming. I’m trying to keep my face calm, trying to look like someone who’s done this before. His eyes are closed, his head is tipped back, and his jaw is locked. His hands flex on my thighs.Thank god. He can’t see me biting the inside of my lip or the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
I don’t move. I can’t. I’m just sitting here, impaled, wondering if this is what it’s supposed to feel like or if something has gone catastrophically wrong. Am I supposed to move? Is he going to move? Should I moan or something? I rock my hips. Testing.
He hisses through his teeth. “Jesus. You’re so tight.”
I freeze. “Did I hurt you?”
His eyes fly open. “What? How would you hurt me?”
“You made a sound!”
“Because it feels good, Mackie.”
“Oh.” I rock again, trying to find a rhythm. He lifts his hips and bumps something. I must make a face, because his hands are suddenly on my hips, stilling me.
“Wait. Am I hurting you?”
“No.”
“Mackie.”
“I’m fine.”
“You just made a face.”
I can feel him reading me the way he reads everything: catching what I’m trying to hide behind what I’m showing.
“Mackie,” he says quietly. “Is this your first time?”
“No.” I say quickly. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. Maybe thousands.”
