She had to simply watch, fascinated, by the deft way he dealt with it. At the way it looked, coating his thick, stiff shaft—too tight, she thought. Too tight and yet somehow arousing at the same time, because…well…now he was going to actually slide into her.
She could feel it coming, before he’d barely done a thing. He suggested it so sensuously, in the slow slide of his hands over her thighs and the little tug he gave to her, quite suddenly.
He didn’t exactly drag her down the bed, but it sort of felt like it. And every inch he pulled her made her hotter. Crazier. She almost wanted to call this feeling impatience, but that sounded wrong.
It was more like desperation.
“Please,” she said, without a single lick of fear that it would make her seem slutty or silly. He had his hand between her legs again—really stroking over the entrance to her pussy. How could any of that make her feel like the wicked one?
He was the wicked one, and oh God she loved every second of it. Just the sensation of him mapping out that place, running around some rim she seemed to have there without ever going in…she wanted to shove herself down on it, hard. Wanted to so badly, but held back.
Some instinct told her it clearly—the buildup, the anticipation, makes it sweeter.
“Here, baby. Tilt your hips up—that’s it. Like that.”
She had no idea if she was really doing the right thing. All she could concentrate on was the feel of him suddenly over her, and the look of him so caught in shadow. Eyes black as pitch, features near formless.
And then the steadying comfort of his hand on her back.
He helped her move, that hand sliding down the moment she started to shake. It anchored her, kept her calm, and more than that it felt good. Like maybe he needed to lift her just a little, urge her up to the waiting curve of his cock.
Though he didn’t sink in right away. He could have done—she could tell he could have done. Something smooth and a little slick brushed over her inner thigh, followed by that same sensation just ever so slightly dragging over her far too sensitive folds. But he waited, before taking the final step.
He kissed her, so soft and close she could hardly stand it. It stung behind her eyes again, to feel him be this tender. To have him stroke all over her body with his big, rough hands, and then finally with something else too.
She saw him reach down between their bodies and held her breath, but yet again he didn’t quite do what she expected. He just repeated that little hint of something she’d gotten a moment earlier—the feel of his cock, sliding against her—only this time he did it in a far lewder sort of fashion.
He directed the blunt head of his dick, so that instead of just glancing over her flesh it slid all the way through her slippery slit. It searched out her clit and stroked there, for a second—though it was enough to make her arch her back and say his name.
The pressure was just right. So perfect. Not like before, with his fingers, when it had seemed like far too much. Now the pleasure felt diffused, everything done through a barrier of slickness. Everything so warm and wet and good and God, God.
She had to clutch at his shoulder, though he hardly seemed to mind. He clutched at her in return, one hand on her hip and one hand on his cock, the expression on his face like nothing she’d ever seen before. His mouth had fallen open somewhere in the middle of all of this, and he couldn’t seem to close it. His eyes looked big, way too big—so much so that she felt sure they were about to swallow her whole.
But best of all, he was shaking. She could feel him actually shaking in her arms, as he slid the blunt head of his cock down, down, down.
“You ready?” he asked, but she couldn’t give him an answer. He was working that thick length back and forth, back and forth over the entrance to her pussy, and it just stopped all possible communication. Her lower body felt like one long, intense pulse of pleasure, and that didn’t change when he finally pressed inward.
Of course she expected it to hurt. Everyone said it hurt, and their horror stories ranged from like being stabbed to so painful it kills you. She was prepared for the worst, and it wasn’t until he’d managed to slide almost halfway in that she realized something pretty fundamental.
It should have been hurting already. If it was going to stab her, the stabbing should have happened about ten seconds ago. And yet all she could feel was his thick length spreading her open. All she could hear were the shuddering sounds he’d started making, that sent an answering bloom of pleasure through her the second they were out of his mouth.
Of course once said pleasure had struck, something else happened. An instinctual, automatic thing that she was barely aware of, until she had the heavy weight of him inside her.