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I can’t breathe until he releases my mouth for a moment, a moment in which my body yearns for more of him. Screw oxygen. I don’t need oxygen. I need him.
I lift my head up towards him, seeking his mouth, but suddenly it’s even further away. I feel something soft hit my back as the world tilts and I know he’s placed me down on the bed, lifting his body above mine. I’m naked in front of him, and I thought at this moment I would be shy, embarrassed, awkward. But the way he looks at me – the way his eyes worship me, drinking me in like the best view he’s ever seen – takes all of that away. It makes me want him to look more. To look at me always.
But more than that – much more than that – I want his touch.
I think of sitting up, reaching for him, drawing him close to me again. But before I can do that he’s off the bed, standing at the foot of it, and I want to follow him. Instead, I watch, my mouth going dry all of a sudden as he puts his fingers to the waistline of his underwear and hooks it down.
I see him – all of him. From the ridges of his six pack, the curves of his arms, and his thighs, all honed in the gym to perfection, my eyes can only slip and slide down to his cock. I have never seen another man in the flesh like this, but I know enough to know that I must be looking at something above the average size.
It’s a little intimidating, I won’t lie. But also exciting. Because he has the body of a god, of a warrior, all honed and sleek, matching up with the expectations that he gives when you see him in clothes. And he is mine. Maybe not forever, but right now. He is mine. And that means something.
That means everything.
I reach for him wordlessly, hopelessly, my hands closing on air because he’s so far away. But he sees my wordless request and answers it, climbing onto the bed, holding himself over me on his hands and knees. He kisses me deeply, and the whole world disappears around us. All I am, all I know, is this body, and his hand moving down my side, stroking over my skin, setting me on fire.
I can barely stand it. The anticipation, the desire, the urgent need for him. It’s impossible to put into words, and I don’t try. I just kiss him back, then throw my head back and gasp when his mouth moves to my throat, down over my chest, to circle his tongue around my sensitive nipples.
His fingers slip between us, parting my legs again, reaching to stroke lightly across my wetness. I can’t help but gasp and arch my hips up towards him, needing more, needing everything. His hand slips down, a finger probing me at the same time as his thumb circles my most responsive nerves, driving sensations I’ve never felt before as he breaches me. The pressure inside, the pressure outside, all combine to this one startling and thrilling heady pleasure, tingling from my head to my toes.
When his finger withdraws, I almost cry out in anguish, wanting it back right away. But then I open my eyes and see what he’s doing and I can’t catch my breath. He’s holding himself now, shifting his weight, changing his angle above me. Lining himself up to enter me.
I can’t help but watch wide-eyed, lifting my head from the pillow to see. It can’t fit. It won’t fit. Will it? But then I feel it teasing me, rubbing against my entrance, and I know two things, first, that the human body is a wonderful thing that can do more than you expect, and second, that I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I raise my hips to him, whimpering quietly in the back of my throat with need, but he pushes me down.
“Let me. I’ll be gentle,” he says, breathing in, and meeting my eyes just for a moment. He must see that I understand and agree because there’s no way I can make my mouth form the words – but somehow he nods and looks back to the task at hand, and begins to push forward.
It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever felt. A stretching feeling, a kind of pop, and he’s inside, just barely. A flare of pain at the size of his length that quickly vanishes; his hand moves back to where it was, his thumb stroking that bundle of nerves gently, and I don’t even know if he realizes how much it stirs me up when he does that. How much it makes me want to move. To take all of him. An instinctive feeling, born out of genes that know far more about this process than my conscious brain does.
