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Guilt trickles through me, brief and startling, and my eyes fly open. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t let Arch do this to me. My father always said I should save a moment like this for someone special.
For someone I love.
But I’m almost eighteen—in less than twenty-four hours, I will be eighteen. An adult. If I choose to let Arch slip his hands into my panties like I’ve fantasized about for weeks, then I’m going to do it.
He’s special. He makes mefeelspecial. And besides…
I can’t save myself forever.
Arch grabs hold of my shoulders and gently spins me around, crushing me to him, his mouth on mine. His lips and tongue busy. Messy. It’s an out-of-control kiss, both of us frantic, panting, our tongues battling, my hands somehow finding the front of his shirt and undoing the buttons with shaky fingers. I wasn’t even conscious of my doing it until I break away from his still seeking lips and spread his shirt open, my lips parting at all that warm, hard flesh on display and I do what feels natural.
Leaning in, I press my mouth against the center of his chest, breathing in his scent. His warmth. The pounding of his heart matches mine and I close my eyes, my mouth running over his skin. I want to consume him.
I want to feel him inside me.
Groaning, he slips his fingers beneath my chin and tilts my head up, his mouth finding mine once again. I let him kiss me, overwhelmed by his constantly moving mouth and tongue. I can feel his hand wander down my side. From my rib cage to my waist to my hips. Down along the side of my skirt, his fingers curling. Gathering the fabric.
His fingers slip beneath my skirt, his tongue circling mine, making me groan. All while his fingers drift across the side of my panties, toying with them, tugging on them. Teasing me.
I’m wet. I can feel it. And his touch is making me even wetter. I didn’t know sex—foreplay, whatever you want to call it—could feel like this. All-consuming and scary and wonderful all at once. I’m tempted to both push him away and beg him for more. It’s too much.
Not enough.
His fingers slip beneath the fabric of my panties, drifting along my hip and I’m restless. Desperate for him to touch me where I really want.
“Are you wet for me, Daisy?” His fingers get closer and air lodges in my throat, making it hard for me to breathe. “Are you?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter, a gasp escaping me when he gently shoves me against the wall, the wood rough on my back. His fingers never stop moving, sliding closer. His other hand rises up, gently holding my throat, pinning me in place and I wait there. Helpless.
Desperate.
“I want to watch your face the first time I touch you,” he whispers, making my legs wobble. Thank God I’m leaning against the wall, his big body holding me up. “But if I take it too far, tell me. Okay? I want this to be good for you.”
I nod, my hair brushing against the splintered wood, strands getting stuck on it, yanking on my braid. I keep my eyes closed, holding my breath as I wait. It feels like even my heart stops for a moment, hanging on that edge, desperate to feel his hands on me.
His fingers move, encountering pubic hair before they slide down, fully cupping me. I suck in a breath, my eyes still closed, everything focused on that one spot where he’s touching me. He removes his hand from my neck and I exhale, a whimper leaving me when his fingers press, splitting me open.
A rough sound leaves him, making me throb.
“Soaked,” he murmurs, sounding pleased. “Damn, Daze.”
I should probably be embarrassed, but I’m not. I like that he found me wet, and that it pleases him. I like the sound of his fingers searching me. Testing me. I spread my legs a little and crack my eyes open, keeping my head bent down so I can watch. His arm and hand shifts beneath my skirt, his fingers sliding back and forth just before his thumb presses against a spot that has me moaning.
His mouth lands on mine, swallowing the last of my moan, his tongue thrusting. I return the kiss, clinging to him, spreading my legs farther, his busy fingers rubbing, his pace increasing before he shifts downward. He teases my entrance, slipping just the tip of his finger inside and I squeeze my thighs together, trapping his hand.
“Does that hurt?”
“N-no.” I shake my head, wincing when my hair snags on the wood.
He pulls away so he can stare into my eyes and we watch each other, his finger still inside me. The reality of what we’re doing smacks into me like a punch, and I can feel my entire face turn hot. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not,” I whisper, struggling with embarrassment.
He pushes his finger deeper inside me and I part my lips, exhaling softly, my tongue sneaking out to touch my upper lip. The embarrassment dissipates, and I am wholly concentrated on that spot where we’re connected. His thick finger curling. Slowly sliding out before thrusting back in. I whimper when his thumb brushes my clit again and he keeps doing it. Faster. Harder.
A gathering sensation starts in the pit of my stomach, my breaths coming quicker. Harder. He kisses me again, his lips and tongue all over me. My mouth and cheeks and chin and jaw. My neck, my ear. Hot and frantic and all-consuming. When his hand drops away from me, the disappointment nearly swallows me whole.
And then he slips both of his hands beneath my skirt, gripping my butt and lifting. Without hesitation, I go willingly. His mouth thankfully on mine once more, he pulls me close, my center pressed against his unmistakable erection and I go still, startled.
