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I lick my lips. “Yeah. That’s smart. I’m not on birth control.”
He reaches into the drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a packet. Then he stands up to shuck his underwear.
I leer shamelessly at the sight of him, his erection thick and hard as he rolls on the condom.
I slide out of my panties and gaze up at him as he climbs back onto the bed.
He reaches out and thumbs my bottom lip, rubbing it in a way that stimulates hundreds of nerve endings. Then he slides his hand down to trace the curve of my breasts before he moves it lower to caress my belly.
Then he finally reaches my groin. He strokes me open and slides one finger inside me. I’m wet. More than aroused. He makes a satisfied sound as he joins the first finger with another and pumps them a few times.
It feels good. I suck in a sharp breath as my spine arches up.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes running up and down my body. “I’ve never seen anyone I want more.”
The words make me feel almost as good as his touch. My legs part automatically. I clutch the duvet folded on one side of me. “Me too, Arthur. Please. Don’t make me wait anymore.”
He climbs over my body, parting my legs to make room for him. Then he adjusts his position, staring hotly down at my body for a few seconds before he asks, “Is there anything in particular you like?”
I have a brief, breathless vision of him turning me over on my hands and knees, but it’s not in me to actually ask for that at the moment. I believe he genuinely wants me. I believe he’s all the way into this. But despite his lifetime-nurtured cynicism, he’s a romantic at heart. He’s going to expect me to want this sweet and safe.
“Is there something?” he prompts when I hesitate just a bit too long.
“This is perfect.” I’m not lying. I like being able to see his face. I like how my arms can wrap around him in this position. I like how he’s the one making things happen.
It’s our first time. Surely this is more appropriate.
He bends his arms to lower his body enough to kiss me slow and soft. His movements are leisurely, delicate in a way that seems intentional. He explores my mouth with his tongue until I’m so turned on I have to wrap one leg around his thighs, trying to shift our positions enough to give me some friction on my clit.
He’s smiling when he finally lifts his head. He presses little kisses around my mouth, on my cheekbones, down my neck.
It’s soft and delicious and so incredibly gentle.
But does nothing to ease the overwhelming ache at my center.
“Arthur.”
“You ready?”
“Yes. You don’t have to be so careful. I’m dying here.”
There’s a flicker in the tight control on his face, but it passes too quickly for me to identify it. He repositions my legs, bending my knees more and pulling my thighs farther apart. Then he adjusts my bottom enough to line himself up at my entrance.
He’s looking me in the eye when he guides himself inside me, penetrating an inch before pulling back out and sinking in farther at a slightly different angle.
It’s been well over a year since I’ve had sex. I feel tighter than I’m used to, and while he’s not unusually large, he’s also not small and he fills me snugly.
I inhale sharply and lift my hips, trying to relax around the deepening pressure.
About halfway in, he jerks his head to the side, closing his eyes and breathing unevenly. He’s already sweating despite his deliberateness. Muscles are tensing in his jaw and his neck.
“Are you okay?” I ask, distracted from the slight discomfort. I cup the side of his jaw with one hand.
He huffs a few times. It takes a moment for me to recognize it as dry laughter. “Yes. Trying not to embarrass myself.”
I choke on a laugh too. “If I shouldn’t be nervous, you shouldn’t be embarrassed.”
He’s gotten ahold of himself now. He turns his head back to meet my eyes. “Good to know. I’d still like this to last longer than two seconds.”
