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The gravel in his voice heats my blood. Tells me hewantsme to. “I know.”
I slide my hand into his sweatpants, tugging the gray cotton down. He’s not wearing anything underneath. The heavy weight of his erection bobs free. I close my fist around it, exploring the hard length the same way I did to his chest. Tracing the flared head and the throbbing vein.
His abs clench, and I can tell he’s holding himself back. I’ve never done this before, never even seen a guy’s penis in person. It’s bigger than I imagined, but I don’t have anything to compare it to.
I swallow, then lean over and suck the tip into my mouth. He tastes salty. Groans when I run my tongue around the head. I gain some confidence, taking more of him into my mouth. I want to please him, want to give him pleasure the same way he crazed me.
His fingers thread into my hair. It’s a gentle, light touch. A caress, almost.
I pull back for a breath. Stand. There’s a flicker of something—disappointment, maybe—on Holden’s face. It disappears when I sink to my knees between his legs, tugging his sweatpants down farther.
“Take off your shirt,” he tells me.
“Because I asked you to take off yours?”
“No. Because I want to look at your tits while I fuck your mouth.”
Electricity zings between us. It’s not a total surprise to learn Holden has a dirty mouth. He’s always had a colorful vocabulary. It’s one of the reasons people were surprised we were such good friends when we were younger. Holden would be the kid dropping swears during recess while I was the one insisting everyone follow the rules when we played Capture the Flag. Me and Sydney make more sense. She’s as much of a good girl as I am.
But there’s something in me that craves the rebellion. That hates how people think they always know what to expect from me, who think I’m always sweet and polite.
Holden sees that in me. Draws it out of me.
So, I put on a show for him. I lean back on my heels and drag my shirt up slowly, revealing my skin to him inch by inch. His eyes grow hooded and heavy as I push my breasts together, his hand falling and stroking his dick.
“Cassia,” Holden whispers.
I lean forward, and he feeds the length of his cock into my mouth. I take more than I did before, but he’s too big for me to suck completely. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. His hands fist at his sides, tendons tensing in his forearms.
Holden’s jaw hardens and his breathing quickens. He groans. “I’m going to come,” he warns. “Cassia. I’m going to…”
I suck harder, and he trails off with another groan. This is stupid. I know what he’s telling me. I should take the out. What am I trying to prove? But I keep sucking, resolute in my decision.
He grunts, and my mouth fills with hot, salty liquid. I have to swallow twice before rocking back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Holden tracks my movements like an opposing player on the court, focused and intense.
I don’t know what to do. Movies and television shows don’t show this part. There’s a suggestive shot of clothes falling to the floor or a door closing or a light turning off, and then it’s thenext day. There’s no awkward moment when you have to face the guy across the street slash your best friend’s brother slash your former crush after rounding third base on his couch.
Do people even still use baseball analogies to equate sexual experiences? Sydney is just as inexperienced as I am—was—and she’s the only person I’d consider asking, knowing she wouldn’t laugh at me.
Holden doesn’t make any move to cover himself. To move. He just sits and stares at me while I hold his gaze. In some ways, it feels more intimate than what just took place between us.
I’ve heard the stories at school. Seen the girls hanging all over him. Holden Adams is a notorious player. It’s a large part of the reason I’ve avoided high school parties. I don’t want to witness it. And that pisses me off, that I’ve allowed him to dictate so many of my decisions, while telling myself it was so that I could get into a good college and not have to worry about what to wear or what to say around my peers.
Right now, I’m equally annoyed that he’s giving me nothing to go on. No lead to follow. He’s supposed to be the certain one.
I reach for my t-shirt and pull it on. Then stand and slide my underwear on, followed by my sleep shorts. My limbs still feel shaky, the lingering memory of pleasure loosening my movements.
Holden pulls his pants up and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Um, I’ll head to—”
“You tired?” He cuts me off before I can getbedout.
I shake my head.
He stands and grabs the remote resting on the coffee table. Tosses it on the couch. “Put something on. I’ll be right back.”
I stare at him after he enters the kitchen and disappears from sight. He wants to watch something together? We haven’t done that since middle school. And I definitely had no idea what sizehis dick was then. I should be mature enough to move past it…but I’m not sure I am.
