Sheltered(20)

Oh God, then what?

“Evie, stop,” he said between kisses. She should have been relieved. She should have, but really all she could feel was the heavy and constant ache between her legs. How warm it made her feel, how daring.

And of course it only got worse when he said, “God, baby, you’re so greedy.”

It didn’t even humiliate her. Somehow he made it sound like the sweetest, sexiest compliment, and when she pushed a hand through his hair and tried to get him to kiss her again, his lips parted. A ripple seemed to go through his body, as though it affected him as strongly as it affected her.

And then he just went right back to those hot, wet kisses, only this time his hand slid down to her waist. His body shifted, until he was suddenly and actually between her legs.

Of course, there were many things between them still. His jeans, her voluminous skirt. A thing that felt like a cushion, trapped between her left thigh and his right. But something was different the moment he moved, and she knew it immediately.

For a start, a solid mass now seemed to be pressing right over the plump curve of her sex. And though rationally she knew it was absolutely not his erection, and equally understood that moving in any way constituted an immediate trip to hell, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

It was like scratching an itch she’d had for nineteen years. It made her want to do insane things, like hook a leg over his hip and really go to town. But of course if she did that, he’d understand exactly what was going on. He’d be horrified, that she’d decided to rub herself on him like a complete and total whore, and no amount of but it feels so amazing would save her.

Even though it did, it totally did. It wasn’t like her own hand, or a pillow between her legs. He had her spread and exposed, just like in her dream, and that exposed place was rubbing and rubbing over the roughness of his jeans. The suggestion of his hard dick.

And all the while he was kissing and kissing her, that hand on her waist almost halfway up her rib cage now. Another inch or two and he’d be at her breast, and oh Lord she didn’t know what she’d do then.

She’d already gone mad, and he’d barely done anything. He wasn’t even moving—she was the one rocking against him like a maniac. And if her doing so made his kisses sloppier and more frantic, and if he made a sound after a second, well…

That was okay, wasn’t it? God, it felt okay. He made another sound—a more obvious one, this time, all rich and despairing—and she couldn’t help answering him. Her entire body seemed locked tight, all of these waves of sensation forcing their way through until said locks started to loosen.

She was losing her grip on herself, and knew it. Her hand wanted to go to his waist, and grasp there tightly. Her mouth wanted to stop kissing for just a second, to let out a breath that wouldn’t actually come. It wouldn’t come for so long a time that she feared unconsciousness was just around the corner, and then oh then it came.

She said his name, loudly, and didn’t care. It felt too good to care. The pleasure just rose inside her, jolting her entire body as it went. She had to squeeze his t-shirt into her fist just to keep herself steady, but even then she knew what an absolute embarrassment she was making of herself.

All they’d done was make out, and she’d started moaning and squirming beneath him, everything about her really obviously having an orgasm and absolutely nothing she could do about it. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to do anything about it.

It just didn’t compare to the kind of pleasure she’d given herself. It coiled in her stomach and made little sounds come out of her mouth, all hitching and gaspy and weird. Her body shook and shook with it, and when it was done she didn’t even have the wherewithal to check how disgusted he looked.

She simply had to lie there, limply, for a good long while. Hopefully he wouldn’t say anything about it.

“Did you seriously just come?”

Or you know, maybe he would just blurt something out.

She tried to keep the heat from rising up over her cheeks, but it proved extremely difficult. Her cheeks were already pink to begin with, and even if they hadn’t been he was on top of her, being all heavy and kind of like a radiator.

Plus when she finally dared to open her eyes, he seemed at best, incredulous.

“Jesus, honey. Is that all it takes?”

The blush was now starting to melt her face clean off. She tried to think of a word of protest—I got a leg cramp, I sneezed really hard, sometimes I just forget to breathe properly—but all of them seemed stupid. And besides, he had his hands on her face now. He had his hands on her face and he kept kissing her all slow and different and then after a moment she realized he was breathing shakily.