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The trip from the park back to the apartment was a blur. Once we’d stepped inside, we had torn our clothes off.
After returning the rental car, we had taken the tube to the edge of the city, and took a cab to Pierre’s building. It was a shabby artist’s studio a couple miles from the Durham campus, tall leaded windows with heavy red drapes and coffee-colored wooden floors, perfect for Pierre’s sensitive style. In spite of the unlit room, it didn’t take us much effort to find his bed.
And then, all of a sudden, time slowed down.
“Are you sure?” he asked me as we neared the mattress, even though I was the one climbing on top of him. “I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable. You can tell me to stop at any time, and—”
“Shut up, P.”
Pinning him down on the bed, my hands massaged his shoulders as my lips tugged at his, eliciting a long moan. At the sound, I lifted my head from his to smirk down at him, and wiggled my waist to settle myself right between his legs.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking if you’re sure about this?” I murmured, dipping my head back toward his as if for another kiss. At the last moment, instead of locking lips with him, I created a trail of kisses along his neck and down the center of his chest. “After all, you’re the virgin.”
He grunted at the comment. “Yeah. No need to remind me.”
As I reached the elastic band of his boxers, I paused just a moment to see if he would take advantage of my offer. But he seemed keen to continue, so I started pulling down the fabric. Once they were off completely, I could feel him shudder beneath me.
“You cold?” I giggled, rubbing my hands up and down his arms. “’Cause I can warm you up.”
“Fuck you,” Pierre giggled even louder, playfully slapping me on the shoulder. “Where’d you learn to say that shit?”
“That line, my friend, was improvised,” I laughed along, my hands gliding over his chest toward his manhood. Until, suddenly, my hands felt something. “Wait.” Squinting through the dim lighting, I noticed the layer of plastic covering Pierre’s dick. Still. “Oh my God. You didn’t take it off?”
“The condom?” Pierre asked, sounding so innocent it made me laugh again. “Shit. I didn’t realize I still had it on.”
“Guess it’s one less step,” I replied, tilting my head so that my long hair fell over one shoulder, and bent forward, my tits dangling over his chest as I positioned myself above him. “Ready?”
“Wait,” he said, suddenly sounding breathless. He scooted up so that his back was against the wall, and then moved aside. “Lie down.”
The command was a little unexpected coming from him—I liked it, and so, I did what I was told. I could feel his excitement as he then copied my own movements, positioning himself above my opening. But, before he went any further, his hand traveled up my side, and soon, took turns caressing each of my breasts. His touch was soft. Rather than squeezing, he rubbed the skin as if he fully aware of their fragility—the pleasure was for me, and me alone.
“I might have to hire you as my masseuse,” I joked, after letting out a deep sigh.
“Please,” he said, deepening his voice to play along with my cheesy seductive one-liners. He moved his hands to cradle my head, and looked into my eyes. “No need to hire. Being with you is all the compensation I need.”
I let out a laugh, but it was cut short as he lowered his head into the crook of my neck, and entered me. My legs instantly stretched wider out on either side of him. I drew in a sharp breath.
“Thanks for the warning,” I muttered, clutching at his hair. He answered with a moan, and the next stroke smoother, his dick sailing up my pelvis with a wave of tingling warmth.
From then on, no words passed between us.
Pierre’s breath soaked my ear clean as he pounded into me—he was fierce, passionate, filled with love more than lust. We were on his bed which was directly beneath the window. Moonlight cast a spotlight on us, our skin pearly silver as we rocked together beneath the glass.
Where Elliot was rough, Pierre was soft.
Where he was soft, it was pure ecstasy.
His nose buried into the side of my neck, his forearms cradling my head, fingers running through my fading purple locks of hair. My hands traveled up and down his back, stroking his firm shoulders and round buttocks that had never seen the light of day, let alone moonlight. I had never lasted this long before. Each stroke of his cock was another wave of pleasure, each one stronger than the last, synchronized with my own heartbeat.
I was his first.
And I couldn’t help but feel shame.
“You’re gorgeous, Kat,” he whispered, his lips drifting along the skin between my breasts. “I love you.”
Because somewhere, in the back of my heart, I knew he deserved someone better than me.
