Sheltered(55)

She clenched down hard. Really hard. And the resultant jolt of sensation made them both gasp. Or at least, it made her gasp, and it made Van pole his arms on either side of her head and bunch the sheets into fists, the sound out of his mouth like something a maniac would do.

Then once he’d gathered himself—eyes drifting closed, hips almost rocking but not quite—he gave her a sort of explanation.

“Try not to do that.” He paused, breathless. “It feels too fucking amazing when you do that.”

“It’s okay if you want to come,” she said, partly because she suspected he really badly needed to. But also because there was something frightening about the solid feel of him inside her, and that jolt she’d experienced when she’d clenched around him.

It wasn’t supposed to be this good, she knew. It was supposed to hurt, and then be kind of boring. Not all juddery and tingly like this, with an urge to tighten herself around him so brightly fierce inside her.

Would he hate her, if she just tried it again? Or maybe moved a little? It looked as if he’d probably hate her, but for one mad second she didn’t want to resist. She wanted to just jam herself down on him, hard, and feel it again. See him lose it like that again—because by God he definitely seemed close to it.

“Don’t say come,” he said, but he didn’t do so to be mean, she could tell. He did it because the feel of her around him was making him arch his body. It was making all the muscles on his arms stand out in a way that practically swamped her with excitement, and just as she thought she couldn’t stand any more, his head went back.

He rocked his hips, as though he just needed to test it out a little.

“You okay?” he asked. Funny that she wanted to say the exact same thing back to him. “Am I hurting you?”

“You’re not hurting me.”

“You sure?”

His words actually trembled on their way out. But that was okay, because hers did too. She could feel them rattling around inside her, as his cock just ever so slightly eased back and forth, back and forth.

Surely, surely it wasn’t meant to feel this good.

“Positive.”

“You want me to—”

“Yes please, now. Just move now. Please.”

Realization crossed his face then. She hadn’t meant to let him know—she kept her words as straightforward and non-urgent as she could. But some of it slipped out anyway, and the second it did his expression practically melted.

“Oh God, God. You like it.”

She fought the urge to prove him right, with some of the things her body then wanted to do. Like maybe rubbing herself against him, frantically, to get more of that slick, solid feeling so deep inside her cunt.

“I’d really have to get more of this to make any sort of informed opinion. So if you could just…you know.”

He eased just a little way out, on that last word. Just a little. And it felt nice, it really did. It set off a series of little sparks along all of those nerve endings that hadn’t previously existed, and made her even more aware of how slick she’d gotten. How easy it was, to just do this.

But it wasn’t half as sweet as the feel of him pushing back into her. He did it hard—harder than she was completely prepared for—and the resulting sensation was very far from a series of sparks. It was much more like a jolt, a pulse, and though she’d intended to be composed she somehow ended up with its opposite.

“Yes!” she cried out, then did her best to reel it back in. Tried to get ahold of herself, before continuing with this line of thought. “I mean…yeah. That is possibly sort of maybe quite nice.”

“Like this?”

He drove in again, harder this time. It didn’t seem as though harder should be better, but it was, it was. Harder shoved right up against some nerve inside her, some little pleasure spot that felt almost exactly like someone mashing their hand down on her clit.

What could she really say but, Oh Jesus do it again?

“Tell me how you want it, baby,” he said, which was somehow even worse than the actual sensation of his cock rubbing and rubbing over that heretofore undiscovered point of bliss. He just spoke the words so desperately, one hand now right on her ass, lifting and lifting her up toward his thrusts.

Those thrusts getting faster, and harder—though not quite enough, she knew. She could feel him holding back just a little, even as she did her best to set him straight. Even as she gasped and dug her nails into his side and his shoulder, and told him, “Go on, go on, you’re not hurting me.”

God, how had she ever thought this would hurt? She’d ridden a bike her whole life. There probably wasn’t even anything to break. And though he felt thick—impossibly, hugely thick—it didn’t threaten to tear her in two.