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Porn didn’t prepare me for any of this. Why do I feel so cherished and adored? I’m overcome with the urge to pleasure him. He’s making me feel so many wonderful new sensations that I want him to come and feel satisfied. I need to connect. I need to give him as much pleasure as he’s giving me.
I try to sit up to kiss him, but he gently holds me down. A lopsided grin crosses his face as he lowers his mouth between my legs. Hot breath fans over me as his thumbs spread me open, giving his wide tongue complete access.
It feels like he’s literally trying to eat me, to lick me dry as he makes out with my pussy. The feeling is fire, a burning ache I never want to stop. I like this fire. I love this fire. I grab his head to push his mouth against me harder. He groans, sending vibrations over my clit. My hips undulate with a mind of their own, trying to get his tongue and mouth to smother me in more lava.
He lifts his head a moment to say, “Fuck, I love how you taste. You going to come in my mouth? Because I want all of it. Let me drink you.” His mouth gets back to work, and his shadowed, intense blue eyes watch me, fixated on my every expression and sigh and moan.
I know what he’s looking for, but it’s not happening. Tingles shoot through my spine and limbs. My core burns and pulses. I’m losing my mind from his tongue. But there’s no buildup or peak or sense that something will explode throughout my body until I’m screaming and trembling in ecstasy. Just pleasure. Endless pleasure that beats against a dam that will never break.
I’ll have to fake it. My chest tightens and my stomach swirls thinking about deceiving him, but what can I do? His ego will be hurt if I don’t climax, and then I’ll have to tell him the truth. I won’t have him looking at me like I’m half a woman. I won’t disappoint him.
I channel my inner porn star and start writhing against the bed, moans getting louder and higher-pitched. I gasp for air a few times. His growl rumbles over my center. As he pushes two fingers inside me, his mouth breaks contact a moment to say, “Fuck, I love your body. I love everything about you.”
My moans stop. My body stops. I stare at him. Why does he keep using that word? Love. We haven’t orgasmed together. He can’t love me without at least one mutual orgasm.
“Not feeling good?” he asks. Worry saturates his eyes. He thinks he’s failing at pleasuring me, but it’s that word he’s using. I don’t understand it.
I grab my phone, which is beside me.
With a timid gaze, he raises himself, fingers reluctantly leaving my opening. “Sorry. Am I talking too much? My stupid sex-brain. Always gets me in trouble.” He tries to kiss me, but I turn my head. He smells like my vagina and no way do I want to kiss my own vagina. He wipes his mouth and tries again, but I shake my head. Still smells like pussy.
“Guess I got carried away. I love how you taste, and I couldn’t stop myself.” He kisses my cheek. “Also—” His mouth shifts to my breasts, trying to let his words fade into oblivion, but I’m too unsettled to let him do that.
Hiding his face in my chest, he says, “I’m falling for you, and I can’t help what I say. It’s just coming out. You don’t have to feel the same, and I’m not asking you to. I’m not trying to bring you out of the moment, just being honest. My feelings are on my mind too much because I’m really into you.” When he finally tips his head to look at me, his expression is open. Vulnerable.
I can’t process whatever is happening right now. Feelings aren’t on my radar. Orgasm. I need to orgasm first. We need to orgasm. How can he think about feelings when we haven’t come together?
Love. That word is a gentle violin and the ear-bleeding clash of drums all at once. It’s music I don’t want to hear.
Focus on sex. It’s not too late. I can still reach satisfaction because if he has fallen for me, how can I not orgasm? The two work together. You can orgasm without love, but you can’t have romantic, committed love without orgasms. Sex creates all those lovey-dovey feel-good chemicals.
Pushing past the pussy smell, I kiss him quickly and then urge him to lie on his back. If he loves me, then I have to orgasm. It’s science. I rub his chest—mostly because I want to, but also to make sure he forgets about ‘feelings’ and returns to fucking.
I tease him by spreading my legs over his cock.
He grabs my hips. “Hell yeah, ride me.”
I’m so wet he easily slips inside when I lower myself. A fierce ache fills me as his girth stretches me open. I hunch forward. This is so intense. I’m so completely filled that my whole body is drowning in pleasure. He’s so hard and hitting all the right places. Knowing that it’s Brody, his cock inside me, makes the sensations stronger. I’m going to orgasm. I have to.
He releases a long ‘fuck’ and a collection of other curse words. His face twists into a strained, almost pained expression as he squeezes my hips and thrusts upward. “I didn’t imagine you’d feel this good. And no condom. Jesus, you’re so hot. I’m glad I held out for you because fuck, Paige.” He sits up so he can hold the back of my neck. “But I need you to come. I want to feel you squeezing me. Fuck, I want to feel it. Come for me. Come with me. I need to fill you at the same time you come all over my cock.”
I can do this. My body is bursting with pleasure. I can come. Focus on relaxing my muscles. Enjoy the sensations. Think about Brody. He’s inside me. He’s fiery and muscular and fucking me with such power. Such force. I’m delirious from the bouncing and the depth of his cock. Just orgasm. Feel the sensations. Let the ache expand. Explode. Consume.
He nips my neck, but it’s distracting. Suddenly his touch and breath are distracting and my skin is agitated. Stinging. I push him back and raise his hands over his head, holding them down. He lets me restrain him, gives me complete control.
“I don’t mind this,” he says. “Do what you want. Take it. You’re in charge, you beautiful sex goddess. Damn, you’re riding me like a porn star. I’m going to come in you so hard.”
Why is he so talkative during sex? It’s cute, but not now. Moments ago, his words were growing the wetness between my legs. Now they’re grating my ears. Jabbing my insides. I need to focus. With a grunt, I cover his mouth with my hand. His eyebrows lower, concerned, but he doesn’t resist.
I close my eyes. I’ll have to fake it. There’s no choice. I won’t leave him disappointed. He’s been wanting me and fantasizing about me for weeks. He cares about me, and he needs the connection you can only experience from an orgasm. By faking it, I’m actually being considerate. It’ll help him feel happy and fulfilled. Then he won’t look at me like I’m incomplete. He’ll want me around. We’ll keep spending time together and having fun, just enjoying each other’s company.
I don’t want that to go away because I failed at sex.
He moves my hand from his mouth. “Paige, what’s wrong?”
No. It can’t end with dissatisfaction. He’ll stop wanting me if it ends this way. I need to fake it so he feels happy and content. I want him to be happy with me.
