My breath picked up speed then, having him below me, the sight of his mouth just inches from the most private part of me. Suddenly, I wondered if it would hurt. I wondered if the stories I’d heard were true. Would I bleed? Would it even feel good at all? But the thoughts were fleeting, muted in the next second by the tender, velvet skin of Emery’s lips on my skin.
His kisses were featherlight on my inner thighs and hips, each one moving closer and closer to where I ached the most. I rolled my hips, squirming under the touch, and when I thought I would spontaneously combust with anymore foreplay, Emery cast one last heated gaze up my body.
And then his mouth was on me, hot and wet and new, and all the pent-up energy left my lips in a loud, pleading moan.
I squeezed my eyes closed, fists tightening around where I gripped the sheets, hips rolling of their own accord. A flurry of foreign emotions blew through me as his tongue worked, my breaths coming so hard I felt lightheaded. There was some sort of heat building low in my stomach, a numbness lashing out from it like the tips of fire, reaching down to my toes before it would retract again. For some reason, I wanted to catch that fire, but it was just out of reach.
Emery slowed, his tongue flat and hot against my core as one of the hands gripping my thighs snaked under his mouth, instead. He gazed up at me, eyes wide and worried and on fire all at once, and then the tip of his finger brushed my entrance. It tickled the wetness there, and when he slipped it slowly inside me, centimeter by centimeter, a burning rush of pleasure seared from the point of contact through every nerve in my body.
I gasped, back arching off the bed, and Emery withdrew the finger slowly, pressing it back inside with careful measure.
“Are you okay?” he asked again, and I could barely creak an eyelid open long enough to nod before my head was back on the pillow, my knuckles white from twisting the sheets so hard.
He worked me gently, and I was stretching for him, opening in a way I’d never been opened before. I didn’t understand it, how he knew how to touch me there, in a place never touched before — not even by me. It burned at first, a strange, almost numbing fire that faded more with every push inside until I was okay, and then I was more than okay, and then I was chasing that feeling again — one I couldn’t quite understand, but that felt closer and closer with every second.
Emery withdrew his finger all the way before his middle finger joined the first, and I peered down at him, my eyes as wide as his this time as he gently slipped them both inside. The burning was back, but more fleeting this time, the sensation only there for a moment before it was gone again. And when he pressed them a bit deeper inside me, the tips of his fingers curling, his mouth lowering to the sensitive skin above his fingers again, I whimpered.
My breaths were loud and tight, my eyes squeezed shut, and I was reaching for that fire again. It was so close, the lashes coming closer together now until all of a sudden, the flames caught, and my entire body burned in a rush. I moaned so loud one hand flew to cover my mouth, but Emery ripped it away, his mouth relentless on the part of me that seemed to be the source of the fire, the spark that ignited it all.
And I realized then that this was it, the feeling I’d always wondered about, the forbidden and foreign rush that came with a man touching me the way Emery was. I rode out my first orgasm, legs shaking and heart racing. It was an out-of-body experience and yet I was present for every blazing second of it.
It seemed to give me every ounce of energy available in my body all at once before it washed away, quickly and fluidly, and my legs fell lax, hips opening, hands releasing the sheets. I panted, a sore awakening touching each muscle as Emery withdrew his fingers and kissed me once more, light and tender, before moving his way back up.
His shoulder shook as he leaned his weight on it, his lips fusing with mine as my breaths evened out.
“Oh my God,” I breathed into his mouth. “I think I… did I just…”
“You came,” he said, his teeth nibbling at my bottom lip. “How did it feel?”
“Incredible,” I breathed the word on a laugh, and Emery smiled, kissing me softly.
He pushed back carefully until he was standing, and when I saw the red stains on his fingers, my eyes shot open for a completely different reason. Emery followed my gaze, holding up his clean hand to stop me from speaking. “It’s okay, it’s fine, it’s normal,” he assured me. “One second.”
He slipped into the bathroom, my heart still thumping hard and loud in my chest until he returned with a damp wash cloth and clean hands. Emery crawled onto the bed again, one forearm sliding under my shoulder, hips resting between mine. With careful movements, he reached his free hand between us with the cloth, the warm wetness of it running the length of me gently as he watched me.
“You are so, so beautiful, Cooper,” he whispered as he cleaned me, and then his lips were on mine, the cloth gone and dropped somewhere on the floor. He rested between my hips again, the hardness of him pressed against me, and though I’d felt it the night we’d kissed in Colorado, this was different. He wanted me. He wanted me so badly his body was reacting to me chemically, in a way he couldn’t control, and it filled me with an unexplainable yearning to make him feel what I’d just felt.
“I want you,” I whispered, a bit unsure of my own voice. “I want you inside me.”
Emery swallowed, his arms shaking again, forehead pressed to mine. I’d felt so spent, but when I bucked my hips up to meet his and he pressed against the tender center of me, want took over. My hands ran the length of his shoulders, fingertips digging into the flesh as I pulled him closer.
It was like I was a precious vase, historic in nature, beautiful and regal, and he was the handler. He was so afraid of marking me, of leaving fingerprints or worse — breaking me. But I had faith in his steady hands, in the way he watched me, and I rocked into him again, my lips finding his.
He kissed me in return, then just as he’d worked his way out of his pants, he did the same with his briefs, eyes on mine the entire time. Our lips were still connected as he felt for the condom on the table, and I tasted myself there, a sweet and tangy mix of him and me that fueled the fire in my stomach again.
The song changed on the speaker just as Emery settled between my hips, his eyes searching mine, a new acoustic melody filling the room. One hand slipped between us, positioning him at my entrance, but he paused.
God, the two creases between his brows were enough to kill me in that moment. He was looking at me like his next move would kill me, and maybe it would. But I wanted to die in his arms that night.
So, with the heel of my right foot, I pressed into his backside, and he took the cue, eyes fluttering shut along with mine as he filled me. Slowly, inch by aching inch, until we were together in every way we physically could be, in every way I’d never been with a man before.
Emery groaned as he retracted before pressing into me again, this time hitting me a little deeper, the searing pain I’d felt before back again. I opened for him, nails digging into the muscles of his back as I adjusted to the new sensations. I was full, so full, every flex of his hips rocking me with a new rush of all-consuming pleasure. It was born where we touched, spreading through my entire body in waves all the way to my toes, to my breasts, escaping as little pants from my open lips before a new wave followed right behind it.