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His hand comes to my hair, gripping and helping me move.
“Rose,” his groggy voice is barely a whisper. “Fuck…”
I stop before he can come and pull away. I pull the covers off completely and straddle him, rubbing his length against my entrance and clit.
His hands come to my waist, and he stops me. “Wait.”
My heart accelerates to the rhythm of fear. Rejection thickens his voice, and I’m suddenly terrified everything from yesterday was just to get information out of me.
He wouldn’t trick me like that…would he?
I wonder what face I’m making, because he instantly tries to reassure me, although with the wrong words. “I just…not now.”
“Why?” I insist, rolling my hips and making him groan. “You clearly want it.”
“I do,” he hisses. “But—”
“Sam…out of the three of you, you’re the only one who still hasn’t fucked me. I want it. What doyouwant? For me to beg? Cause I can’t say I’m above it.”
He runs a hand across his face, and then, he rubs his knuckles rub against his jaw. “It’s not that. I just…”
“Why won’t you fuck me?” He hesitates some more, and I roll my hips. “Sam…”
“Because that’s not how I imagined it.”
“What?” I still, confused. I press my hands to his tattooed chest. “How did you imagine it?”
His eyes dart away, a light pink tinting his cheeks. It brings a smile to my face.
“I always thought I’d be your first,” he finally admits. His hands tighten slightly around my waist. “I…I thought I’d be the first guy to make love to you, to pleasure you. I used to imagine the gentle way I’d lay you on your bed. How I’d kiss you when I’d first push in. It’s…fuck, it’s stupid ‘cause I know you’ve slept with a lot of people now. And I’ve slept with a few too. And I’m not saying I wanted to take your virginity, that’s a stupid thing to think. But…your first. Yeah, I wanted that.”
My heart is beating too fast for me to take an adequate breath. Butterflies are dancing in my stomach, and tears of happiness and regret are threatening to spill. How I wish it had been that way too. My first time was with my best friend Luke because we were drunk and wanted to experiment.
“Do it,” I voice my desire weakly, forcing air out of my lungs. “Show me how it would have been.”
His eyes look up, a million stars now lighting up the black orbs.
Softly, he flips us around. He gently lays me down in his place and spreads my legs with his own as he settles on top of me. I’m a tall woman, I take space, but I suddenly feel ridiculously tiny under the strong man keeping me between him and the mattress.
Tenderly, he drops kisses on my lips, my jaw, and my neck. He keeps going down until he’s lovingly kissing my nipples. He takes one after the other in his mouth, licking and sucking lightly. I start to writhe under him, the contrast between the loving acts and the pain from my ass cheeks making me dizzy. He keeps going down my stomach, kissing tattoos and scars, licking his way down until his tongue starts to play with my clit.
It’s soft taps, long licks, and care. It’s slow and beautiful, teasing me until I’m panting and moving against his mouth. When he deems me wet enough, he pushes up and grabs something from the side table. Lube.
“I don’t need—”
“Ssh.” He puts a finger against my mouth. “You wanted to see how I would have done it. This is how.”
First, he puts lube on his fingers before working them into me one by one. He caresses me with his other hand at the same time. He makes sure I’m completely prepared for him before he puts lube on his dick. I observe him stroke himself while he watches me, taking in my entire body. He lines his dick to my entrance, and his lips fall onto mine just before he enters me. He kisses me deeply, and at the same time as his tongue comes to stroke mine, he gently pushes in. I moan against his mouth, his girth stretching me way more than his fingers did.
I whimper when he tries to push in more, and he brings a hand to my cheek.
“Relax, Lovebug. Take a deep breath for me.”
The nickname he used to use for me could have been long forgotten, yet it sounds so familiar. I’m thrown back to all the moments we had together. All the loving gestures, all the times he took care of me, held me in his arms to protect me from others and myself.
I think of the notes I would leave in his jacket before he left our house, how I would breathe in his smell on it in secret. I remember his soft skin against mine when he gave me my first tattoo. The first one I’d wanted consensually. I’d asked him to add something else to my skin because I didn’t only want the mark of the Bianco family that my foster dad had tattooed on all of us.
He pushes in, rolling his hips gently.
