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My breath comes in ragged strips. I force air through my lungs for something to do, to distract me from the pleasure that Holy brings me. My skin tingles with electricity and desire. It seems impossible that I will explode into a million pieces, but it seems just as impossible that I won’t.
The final, fleeting moments of the day disappear beyond a hill and some trees. We’re bathed in a blue sky that threatens to fade into black. The sound of crickets and birds plays a melody I will never forget.
It isn’t the summer heat that brings a sheen of sweat to my skin; it is Holy’s fingers traveling up my thigh and slipping under the hem of my dress. The press of his thumb against my tender, untouched skin. He strokes my inner thigh as his lips caress my clavicle, and everything comes alive.
“Tell me when you want me to stop,” he growls against the curve of my neck. Then his fingers race across the crotch of my panties. With a fine bit of fabric between us, I shouldn’t feel as on fire as I do, but it’s like he scalds me with desire. My skin heats to a crisp 120 degrees, and I feel like I’m roasting inside my delicate body.
I never want him to stop. I beckon him on by tilting my hips toward his and parting my lips to suck in more air. At first, I think the press of our bodies against one another is stealing the oxygen from my lungs, but it’s pure lust. It’s pleasure drawing breath from my chest.
I always thought my first time would be a little awkward. I was sure that Holy would know what to do, and he’d have to talk me through it. But being together feels natural, like it was meant to be.
He pulls aside my panties with his thumb, and a single digit slides through my slit. I open my mouth, tilting my head backward at the base of my skull. I press my hair into the dirt and grass, trying harder to sink into the Earth while simultaneously grinding against Holy. I need all of him and less of him, somehow, at the same time.
A few seconds later, his finger is teasing my entrance. He pops his digit past my opening, and the intrusion changes my body language. He goes to the first knuckle, barely an inch in, and drags the pad of his fingertip against my insides. While I claw at his shirt, desperate for more, he gives it to me in the form of another inch. He pushes his thumb to the second knuckle, and now I feel like he’s opening me up for what’s coming next.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” he whispers, “nice and slow. Grind your pussy against me. Take your pleasure.” Then he buries his finger to the hilt. His palm is pressed against my clit while his finger makes little circles inside me.
I won’t lie. I’ve touched myself before. It’s a right of passage for teenage girls. You get curious about what you’re hiding under those frilly panties your dad says you can’t show the boys on the playground. Next thing you know, a little button swells up the more you touch it, and somehow you touch it just enough to make yourself feel really good.
But regardless of how many practice orgasms I’ve given myself and how thoroughly I’ve tried to get to know my body, it isn’t the same. Holy touches me in all the right ways, and it makes my fumbled attempts at self-pleasure look amateurish in comparison.
He grinds his palm against my pleasure center until I’m arching my back and scrambling to get just the right amount of pressure to get off. He curls his finger and drags a wealth of sensations out of me from within. While I’m holding onto his biceps to keep from falling off the edge of the world, he has his lips on my neck, and he sucks like a Hoover vacuum. He brands me with a hickey, blood vessels bursting beneath my epidermis.
“You’re mine, now,” he promises. “This is endgame, princess.”
And I don’t know if I can prove him wrong because he applies the slightest pressure to his motion below my waist, and I explode like a firecracker. The moon is still rising in the sky, but I hail it in with a moan and a “holy fuck” whispered from my throat like a demon clawing its way out. Endgame, indeed.
He doesn’t stop moving just because I’m finished. If anything, Holy picks up pace. He touches me like I was made for touching. With his lips a couple of inches from the first, he adds a second hickey to my throat. He drags his teeth across my skin and marks me like I’m his forever.
“You’ll always feel this good when you’re with me, baby.” It’s another promise, like being his will suddenly change my life. As if, in no uncertain terms, I would never want to leave him.
And he’s right. Because I could never give up the pleasure that he gives to me. I’m not walking away from how he makes me feel. “I don’t ever want to hear you talk about another man,” he says. “Not those fuck boys on the football team and not the stupid fucks you meet in your English class.”
Holy’s touch is like magic, binding me to him with twisted words spoken in lust. I’m this close to nodding my head and promising to never look at another man again. That’s the power that he has over me.
As if reading my mind, Holy stops all movement. My body yearns for more, demands more, but he stays absolutely still as he hovers above me. “Do you hear me, Dani?” He meets my gaze, the intensity penetrating my very existence. “Tell me you hear me. Tell me I’m yours, and you’re mine.”
This isn’t the same man from before, the one that was worried about sharing a kiss with me. Now he has his hand in my panties, his finger inside me, and he’s making me promise myself to him.
“I’m yours,” I whisper, unable to speak any louder.
Holy doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he presses his lips to mine and says, “And I’m yours.”
It is the most passionate of love stories, a forbidden dance to the music of the woods. Every second feels like a minute, and every minute stretches an eternity. I want to stay in this moment forever, hard ground and freshly cut grass included. As long as I’m with Holy, nothing else matters.
16
HOLY
The conditions aren’t ideal. We don’t have a blanket to shield us from the dirt and grass or to throw over us if someone drives up. The path to this overlook isn’t well-frequented, but it’s still available to the public. Any car that drives up here and sees us might be willing to turn back around at first, but the second they notice Danielle’s youth next to my burly, tattooed existence, they’re going to start asking questions.
But when the train is barreling down the tracks, it’s hard to put on the brakes. And that’s what it feels like being wrapped up in Danielle right now.
She has her leg hooked around my waist while I dip two fingers inside her. She’s as tight as I imagined she would be. Her pussy clenches my digits like she never wants to let go. I rock them back and forth, not just to feel her writhe with pleasure beneath me but to prepare her for my cock.
The last time I was with an eighteen-year-old,Iwas eighteen. I wouldn’t say I’ve always dated my age, but the older I’ve gotten, the older the women I date has gotten. I almost forgot what it was like to be a barely legal teenage virgin. They’re so responsive to touch, even the tiniest things, like the breeze blowing across their nipples.
I can’t get her fully undressed. Being in public puts us in the precarious position of someone coming across us by accident. The last thing we need is an indecent exposure charge. But I can pull the top of her dress down and wrap my lips around her erect nub. I can see the other pucker as the evening breeze sweeps across it.
