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“Are you gonna come for me too? Fill me up?” There’s a sparkle in her eye as she says the phrase she called gross before. I get it. Sometimes, the dirtiest things are the sexiest in the moment, and I suspected she liked it before, despite her protest.
“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna fill you up until you can’t hold it all and it leaks down your leg, marking you as mine.” I emphasize the words by harshly gripping her inner thigh, right beside where I’m entering her. I’m going to do no such thing. When I spill, it’ll be in the condom, but the idea of painting her walls with my cum is an image I can’t withstand, and I slip off the edge.
I grunt, rutting into Luna as she fucks me back. Her nails dig into my skin, holding on for dear life as our cries become a chorus. I come hard as her pussy squeezes me just right.
When I sag over her, leaning against the back of the couch, I see that her glasses have gone crooked. I straighten them gently. “You look amazing in these. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.”
I smile goofily, enjoying the awestruck look on her face. Her eyes are vacant, dazed as she’s in the afterglow.
“That was . . . wow.”
Pride builds up in my chest.
“I didn’t think people could do it like that . . . on their first time.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
LUNA
Silence reigns for a beat as Carter gawks at me. “Their . . . what?” he snaps.
His utterance brings me back to Earth from the foggy pink haze of bliss I’m floating in. I blink and meet his gaze. He looks horror-stricken and terrified.
“You mean people’s first time together, right?” he asks. “Not first-first time. Like you weren’t a virgin. For fuck’s sake, tell me you weren’t a virgin.”
He sounds a little hysterical. Offended, I feel my inner Alphena rising up. “Virginity is the patriarchy’s attempt to control women’s actions through shame. And if you’re talking about loss of the hymen, I’ve had periods for over a decade and used plenty of toys.”
I could’ve left the details out, especially about toys, but Samantha has taught me that they can be a vital part of pleasuring oneself and nothing to be ashamed of. Gritting his teeth, Carter asks again, “You weren’t a virgin, though? I mean, you’ve had sex before?”
“Oral and fingers,” I admit, “but not . . . what we did.”
It’s only when he pulls his now-soft dick out of me and deals with the condom that I realize this conversation has all been with him still inside me, post-orgasm. “Holy fuck, Luna! I would’ve been more . . . or less . . . if I’d known. That’s the sort of thing you tell someone beforehand. You should’ve told me.”
I can feel the heat of a blush creeping up my neck, and lying here with my dress around my waist seems sleazy when he’s freaking out and already regretting this. I squirm, trying to shove my dress down, desperately wanting to hide. Or escape.
“I wouldn’t have changed a thing, until this moment.”
I swing my leg around him, sitting up and reaching for my heels. I dread putting them back on, but I’m going to strut out of here with every piece of my armor in place or die trying.
“Luna, wait. I didn’t mean it like that. Your first time—” I hold up a finger to argue, and he begrudgingly corrects himself. “First time with someone should be special. Not a rough fuck on a couch. I would’ve . . .”
I don’t wait for him to tell me all the ways that what we did was wrong. Because I know what he really means. “You would’ve stopped.”
We both know it’s true. I really don’t think first times—with someone—need to be this rose petal covered bed, a special occasion. But Carter does. Or at least he thinks I should think that. Either way, the net result is the same.
I’m wrong. For what I want, for what I’ve done, even for what I haven’t done. I stand, stepping out of reach as he tries to stop me. “Wait. Luna, wait.”
“I’m gonna go. Good luck with . . . everything.”
How dare Carter ruin what we did with a whole preconceived notion about what sex is supposed to be with some ‘should’a, could’a, would’a’ bullshit? Like I didn’t know what I was doing or what I wanted?
I should’a slapped the panic off his freaked-out face.
I would’a if I’d thought of it at the time.
And I still could’a turn this car around and go back and do it.
But I don’t. I go where I know I won’t be judged.
A few minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of Sam’s apartment building. I knock on her door, and she calls out, “Come in.”
