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I’m so turned on that my body feels alive with electricity. I shiver with anticipation, excitement, need. It’s not unlike the feeling of fear. The sense of inevitability I imagine someone would get, just before jumping off a high, sheer cliff.
Letting Connor back into my life — even just having dinner with him — was a risk. But this? This is downright dangerous. This is opening a door that has been closed for a long time. And once we do, I don’t think it will be easy to slam it shut again.
Connor was my first lover. I was his first, as well. Over the years, I’ve learned enough about men and sex to be grateful that my first experience of intimacy was a good one. The first boy who ever explored my body actually cared about making me feel good. The first orgasms I ever had were with Connor, panting and sweaty in the back of a car, or in stolen moments anywhere we could manage to find ourselves alone.
Because of Connor, when the few subsequent boyfriends I’ve had over the years couldn’t make me feel the same way, I knew that the problem wasn’t me. I also came to the conclusion that bad sex is worse than no sex at all. A battery-powered friend is always a better choice than with a dick attached to a brain that can’t be bothered to take directions. If it hadn’t been for him, I might never have known that.
Connor presses me up against the wall with a growl. His face is only inches from mine as his eyes turn from storm clouds to hurricane. “If you want to keep those clothes,” he rasps, “you’ll take them off right now, before I rip them off you.”
I shiver, knowing from the low, gruff tone in his voice that he is deadly serious. I shrug off my moto jacket and it falls to the floor. My boots are next as I kick them into a corner. I reach for the hem of my shirt and slide it over my head. Connor takes a step back and crosses his arms, his gaze raking over my body like he’s starving for me. His cock creates a large bulge at the crotch of his pants, and seeing it, I actually start to drool a little, which I try to hide by biting my lip. He nods at me once, and the message is clear:Keep going.
Swallowing nervously, I undo my jeans button and zipper and shimmy out of them, then step out of the puddle of denim wearing only my panties, bra, and socks. I stand there in front of him, feeling more naked than I ever have in my life.
"Fucking gorgeous,” he says thickly. His hand goes to adjust his bulge. “You better take me to your bedroom, girl, unless you want me to fuck you on this floor.”
His excitement makes me bolder. I love seeing what I’m doing to him. Giving him a coy little smirk, I reach back and unhook my bra, and let it fall from my breasts. His eyes widen a little as they take in their fullness, the pebbled nipples. I dangle the bra from one finger for a second, then let it fall to the floor as I turn on my heels and saunter to the bedroom, knowing his eyes are following me.
The sound of leather hitting a chair reaches me a second later, and then he’s behind me. His arms slide around me, one hand reaching down to cup my sex. I gasp, my eyelids fluttering as he slips a finger under the fabric and finds me wet and ready for him. “Fuck,” he hisses, pressing me back against his hardness.
“Bedroom,” I manage in a strangled voice.
Then I’m in his arms and he’s striding forward, finding the doorway and then depositing me on the bed. I watch in fascination as he straightens and strips down as well, first his shirt and then his jeans. He’s more muscled than he used to be, and ink defines his arms, chest, and abdomen. Connor has always been good-looking, maturing early into a man’s body even when he was eighteen. But now, he’s a work of art. I momentarily stop breathing as I take him in, and then inhale sharply when his jeans pool to the floor and the thick hardness of his cock springs up, like the statue of a god.
Oh. My. God.
He grabs his length and begins to slowly stroke as I watch. We’re frozen in this moment together, both of us wrapped in a desire that feels ageless even as I’ve never felt so present in the moment. In a trance, I lean forward and replace his hand with mine. He hisses, but lets me do it. The heat — the velvety, steel heat — of his cock is intoxicating. I fist him, loving the pulsing of his shaft. I lean forward even more, licking the salty head and smiling to myself as I hear him groan.
“I’ve thought about this over the years,” he murmurs. “You’ve thought about me, too.”
It’s not a question. But he’s right. I have. A lot.
I flatten my tongue and run it along the bottom of his cock, wrapping my lips around him. His groan is deeper this time, like it comes from the depths of his soul. He’s so big that I can’t fit much of him in, but I make up for it with my hand. Connor is thrusting now, just slight movements, and I can tell the supreme effort he’s making to hold himself back. I know from how taut he is that he’s on the verge of exploding, and the knowledge that I did this makes my blood sing with the power of it. But then, a second later, he threads his hand through my hair and pulls me off him. “Not like this. Not tonight,” he rasps. “Get on your hands and knees.”
I do what he says immediately, wanting to go wherever he wants to take me. I can feel his eyes on me, staring at my arched back, the curve of my ass. It makes the thrumming between my legs even stronger. Seconds later, his weight sinks into the bed. His hands are on my ass, pulling me open. Then, his mouth is on my pussy, tongue sliding between my folds. I cry out, thrusting back against him. God, I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s perfect, it’s torture, I want to die like this, the need so strong it’s painful. His tongue teases me, lapping at me and diving inside me, I’m throbbing now, desperate for him. I hear myself whimper his name, thenplease, as I strain toward the only one who can give me my release.
Finally, when I’m almost crying with need, Connor slips two fingers inside me and then sucks my clit between his lips, He slides his tongue over it once, twice, and I come apart, screaming his name as I shudder against his mouth. Connor,” I gasp, face against the pillow. “Connor.”
The bed shifts again, and then his knees are between mine, his cock slicking against my opening. “Do I need a condom?”
God, I want him bare inside me. “I’m on the pill,” I manage to say. “And I’m clean.”
“Good. I don’t fuck without wrapping up. Never.” I realize what he’s saying without him having to utter another word:Never. Except for right now, with you.I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t lie about this. He doesn’t really lie, period. Lies are used to cover up weakness. A man like Connor doesn’t have to do that.
I close my eyes in pleasure as he grabs my hips and slides into me, slowly at first, giving me time to accommodate his girth. He pulls out, just as slowly, then thrusts, plunging deep into me, hard and fast. The window at the head of my bed is closed, but our reflection is there in the glass. Connor thrusts again, even harder, and our gazes lock. My lips part, desire mounting in me again. “Katrina,” he says hoarsely. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna fill you, baby. Gonna fill you with me.”
My insides contract as he thrusts again. God, I don’t know why his words do this to me, but I feel like I’m going to come again, and then I realize I amabsolutelygoing to come again, which has never happened to me before. His fingers are digging into my ass and hips, and he pulls me harder and harder against him with each thrust, and I swear I can feel him getting bigger inside me, and I whimper, “Connor, oh god, yes, yes…” as he drives into me, and then he roars my name and explodes, and the wave breaks over me and my whole body contracts as he releases his seed deep within me.
When I finally start to come back to earth, we’re on our knees and he’s holding me against him, his broad chest against my back, kissing me. He lays us down on the bed, him still inside me, and we move together, basking in the sensation of being joined together as one. He begins to thrust again, slowly, languorously, then faster, and his hand comes down to caress my slick pussy. We make love like that, taking our time now, and this time when I come it’s deeper, fuller, and he holds me as I explode and then fills me again.
My name is on Connor’s lips as they brush against my cheek.
I lie next to him afterwards on his left side. His right arm curves around me, pulling me close. And it’s then that I see it on his right bicep.
The tattoo. It’s a black ink drawing of a wild cat, the graceful lines almost tribal-influenced. The cat stares at the viewer as it takes a step forward, as though it’s about to walk toward you.
It has my eyes. Which it should, because the cat is me.
Connor still has it. He didn’t have it inked over with another design.
