My tongue rubs tight, tiny circles on Chelsea’s clit and I slide two fingers into her. Her muscles grip as I pump my hand and groan. And then she’s coming, hard and long, pulsing around my fingers, against my mouth.
I drag myself up, wipe my mouth against my arm, not giving her time to recover. Not able to wait.
She takes my face in her hands and brings my mouth to hers. I grip my cock firmly, dragging the head through her pussy, teasing her opening.
And then, slowly, I push inside. Just the head.
Fuck me, she’s tight. My eyes squeeze closed as her cunt closes around the tip of my dick, muscles clenching—pulling me in deeper.
Wait, my brain screams. Wait, wait, wait . . .
Braced above her on my elbows, my body and my mind war for sanity. For some kind of goddamn composure. Because I need to pull away. I need to get a condom.
And it’s like she can read my mind.
“I’m on birth control,” she gasps, sounding as winded and wound up as I feel. “The patch. I . . . I’ve been tested—the school clinic. I’m clean. There hasn’t been . . . I don’t do this. Ever. But I want it to be really good for you . . .”
It’s already blown every other past experience out of the water—and I haven’t even come yet.
“And . . .”
She caresses my face, gentle and tender. I look down into those beautiful blue eyes.
“. . . and I trust you, Jake.”
It’s not smart—actually it’s beyond stupid, especially for me. Especially after all that’s happened and the last three weeks of hell. But feeling her bare. Sliding inside her with nothing between us . . . how can I say no to that?
I must’ve really lost my mind.
Because I don’t.
“You can . . . ,” I swear. “You can trust me. I won’t hurt you.”
She nods, eyes locked with mine. And that’s all I need.
My hips move forward, pushing into her slowly, inch by torturous inch. It’s hell and heaven rolled into one. Agonizingly, mind-blowingly slow.
I feel her stretch around me. Making room. She clenches, so snug and hot it borders on pain. The best kind.
A serrated moan pours from her lips and I almost lose it.
“You’re okay?” I gasp desperately. “It’s good?”
Chelsea arches up to kiss me, keening against my lips. “Yes . . . so good.”
I pull back, just a centimeter, then flex forward again. Pressing and pushing, sliding along that tight fucking channel until I’m fully nestled. Until my balls rest against her ass. So deep. So wet. My eyes roll closed and I’m consumed by the sensation of Chelsea wrapped around me. Her scent, her moans, the taste of her lips, the grip of her hands on my back, on my ass, overwhelms me. Everything else fades away, and I’m lost in this one perfect moment—focused solely on where I’m buried deep inside her.
With almost a tinge of regret, I withdraw. Only to moan when I get to slide back in. This isn’t fucking. Or screwing. This is something different—something more—that doesn’t have a name.
“Jake . . . oh god . . . faster.”
Her hips rise up to meet me and I lose track of time. All that exists is grinding and gasping, kisses and whispers, pounding and pulsing. Harder and deeper and more. Pleasure beyond anything I’ve known.
Electric heat scorches up my spine. I feel Chelsea’s muscles throbbing around me, squeezing as she cries out beneath me. And when I start to come, the only word in my mind . . . is her name.
“Chelsea . . . Chelsea . . .”
I picture it, how I’m jerking, pulsing deep inside of her—filling her. And the image makes me come that much harder.
Afterward, the sharp pleasure eventually wanes, smoothes out, and settles into a pleasant hum through my limbs. Awareness returns and I lift my head from the crook of Chelsea’s neck—my new favorite spot—to see her smiling drowsily up at me.
And all I can do is smile back.
I run my hand through her damp hair, feel the slick sweat on our bodies that seals us together, as I pull out of her with a grunt, then shift to the side, dragging her against me. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her forehead with more tenderness than I ever knew I was capable of.
15
I can’t get enough of Chelsea’s skin. It’s bordering on obsession. I can’t stop touching it, stroking the rough pads of my fingertips up her arm, across her creamy shoulder, down the perfect, pale line of her spine. It glistens like an opal under the glimmer of moonlight coming in from the bedroom window. My lips follow my fingers, soft brushes—she feels like velvet against my mouth, like the deepest cleft of a rose petal.
And she’s not exactly idle either. Her tongue swirls around my nipple, she nips at my shoulder, her fingers play with the peppering of hair on my chest . . . and lower. She likes the feel of my stubble against her breast and I love the sensation of her auburn hair sliding across my stomach. For the next hour, it’s a silent exploration. An erotic discovery—what tickles, what turns us on, makes me groan, makes her scream.