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I shoot him a look over my shoulder; he’s watching me intently.
‘It gives you better stability.’
I arch a brow.
‘I’m serious.’
‘Okay.’ I do as he suggested, stepping my feet out. His hand, on my butt, curves around to my front. I hold my breath, the cue unsteady in my fingertips now. He finds the top of my jeans and begins to unzip them, slowly.
I bite down on my lower lip, frozen where I am. He flicks the button of the jeans next and they open. I can hardly breathe, let alone think. Just like in the lift, all of my nerve endings vibrate; all I can feel is this.
‘The important thing is to commit to your shot,’ he murmurs in my ear, as his fingers brush my clit.
I jerk, so unexpected and unfamiliar is the contact. ‘Michael—’ His name is jagged in my mouth. ‘God, Michael...’
‘Play your shot.’
I moan. I can’t. I can’t think about pool. I can’t think, full stop.
‘Your problem, Millie, is that you think sex is just sex.’
I’m shaking all over. Pleasure and warmth spread through me like wildfire.
‘I...don’t...know what I’m meant to...think...’
‘No, you don’t.’ From behind me, he grinds his hips against me so I feel his hardness at my back and his fingers move faster, so that my body presses forwards in a silent, instinctive invitation. A plea.
‘There are lots of ways to feel pleasure.’ He drops his mouth, kissing me at the back of my neck. ‘Even when you’re playing pool.’
But pleasure is building, wave upon wave inside me, making me ache for a burst of relief, a release I know from experience will fill me with its intensity.
I groan, wiggling my hips, and he moves his other hand to hold me still as his fingers move against me, driving me to the edge of sanity and reason, just like he did in the lift. And, as with then, it’s too much. I’m pressed to the pool table and, with my head tilted to the side, I see the colourful balls and, in the reflection, us. I see him behind me, watching me, touching me, and the image is so provocative and intense that my pleasure becomes almost unbearable.
‘Michael,’ I whisper, and then again and again. I reach out, scattering pool balls in the process. I am in agony and ecstasy; I am in heaven.
He thrusts his hips forward again and I am alive with need. For this, and more.
And then I am exploding—a refraction of every light I’ve ever absorbed in my life. It all comes out of me as his fingers strum my clit and I fall apart completely, crying out incoherently as my first ever orgasm shows me how much I’ve been missing out on. I hear myself say his name, I swear, and then I am still, save for my rasping breathing as I lie where I have been all along, pressed against the pool table.
‘You’re a quick learner,’ he says gruffly, pulling his hand away, but staying close so I can’t easily get up. I don’t want to, anyway. I don’t ever want to move.
* * *
I’m harder than granite. I watch her as she regains her breath, her cheeks pink, her eyes closed, her lips parted as breath wars with her lungs. I told myself tonight would be a tease. I told myself I would drive her mad with proximity and the promise of sex, so that she could learn what every teenager in the world experiences at some point or another. There’s nothing hotter than wanting and not getting. At least, for a time.
Apparently, I don’t have any forbearance, though, because wanting her is a drug and I’m high on it, so high.
I stand up, keeping a hand on her hip, reluctant to relinquish all contact yet. Her skin is warm. Fuck, she’s hot.
‘There are lots of things outside of sex that can be part of your education.’
She shifts sideways, out of my touch, propping up on one arm. If I leaned forward, I could press her backwards and then she’d be lying on my pool table. I’d like to fuck her right there, just like that.
My dick strains hard against my pants—I deserve a medal for not doing exactly that. But a woman who’s so behind in sexual experiences deserves more than a wham, bam, thank you ma’am fucking.
‘I had no idea pool could be so sexy,’ she says, the words light and airy even, her breath still tortured inside her. ‘But that was very, very sexy.’
She swallows, her throat moving visibly as she stands up a little unsteadily. She reaches for her beer and sips it; I can’t take my eyes off her. The fragile shift of her mouth and neck, the way her pale fingers curve elegantly around the bottle’s neck.
