So, I let my hands wander lower. Over the gentle swell of her hips, then pause, searching her for signs of even a nonverbal stop. I see none. I lean down and nip her lower lip, and she gasps. I kiss her as she gasps, tasting her inhale. Her fingers tighten, and she lifts to deepen the kiss. I offer her a tease of my tongue, and she responds immediately, hers slashing against mine greedily, eagerly.
Her hands leave my shoulders, and I can feel them trembling. She explores my biceps, my ribcage. My abs. She slips her hands up under my shirt, and I lean back, breaking the kiss momentarily—she takes the invitation for what it is, peeling my shirt up and off—where it lands, I don’t know.
Her hands are greedy, exploring my torso, finding each ridge, each divot and line and curve. Her mouth meets mine again, and we’re off together, still standing in the middle of the room.
Desire pulses through me—for more of her. I tamp it down, contain it.
Her tongue is eager, soaring through my mouth and tangling with mine. Her hands clutch my biceps, my chest, rubbing and massaging and raking. I run my hands over her head, scratching my nails against her scalp, and she shudders—she likes that. I do it again, and her knees buckle. I huff a laugh, but it doesn’t stop our momentum. If anything, she’s emboldened. Her hands go to my abdomen, tracing the outlines of my muscles there. Not quite as far as the button of my jeans, but damn close.
She’s ablaze with desire—I can feel it in her. Sense it in the way she kisses me, in the greedy, daring scouring of her hands on my body, the way she leans harder into me. Pressing her chest against mine, angling her hips into me.
She wants more, she just doesn’t know what that is.
I run my hands down her spine, over the shirt. Down, to the small of her back. I wait until she breaks the kiss to breathe, till her eyes meet mine. And then I cup her bottom—it’s small and tight and firm, fitting neatly into my palms. She gasps, eyes flying wide, tensing all over, just for a moment, and then she relaxes. A smile crosses her mouth.
I explore her backside, then, cupping, massaging, dimpling with my fingers, tracing the underside where it meets her thighs.
She’s barely breathing, lip caught between her teeth. “That feels…good.”
I just smile and tug her against me, hunger for her kiss making me impatient for more. She melts against me, and her hands go to my back. She finds my shoulder blades, the serpentine line of my spine. Lower, and lower.
To the denim over my butt, with a firm, declarative grip. Her laugh, then, is one of giddy disbelief. She pulls away from the kiss, but her eyes are mischievous, sparkling with delight and desire.
“You make me feel good,” she whispers. “About myself.”
“Good.” I grin, cupping her tight, round little butt in both hands. “Now what?”
She searches my face, and I can see her thinking, see the desire warring with nerves. Desire wins.
Her fingertips trail against my skin, around from my butt to my abdomen. Pauses there, fingertips against my belly. Watching me. Waiting for me to tell her to stop? I don’t know. Whatever she’s looking for, she won’t find—unless it’s my barely restrained need. That, she’ll find in spades, if she were to go looking.
When her fingers go to the button of my jeans, I’m kind of surprised at her forwardness—this is faster than I’d have thought she’d want to go. I just hold her gaze evenly, steadily, tacitly giving her the go-ahead.
She frees the button. Tugs the zipper down. She’s holding her breath one moment, and then sucking in deep shuddering breaths the next. My jeans sag open. She hooks her fingers in a pair of belt loops and tugs down—I step on a cuff and yank my leg free, then the other, kick them aside. My black briefs do little to hide the evidence of my arousal.
Her eyes, obviously, go there. Widen dramatically. Her breathing stops. “Um. Wow. Okay. Um—wow.”
“Your speechlessness is flattering,” I whisper. “And also? I hope it tells you what my words can’t about how I feel about you—that I really am attracted to you.”
She lets out a shuddery breath, and her head tips back, eyes blinking rapidly. “Wes, god…”
“What? What is it?” I’m worried instantly that I let things go too far too fast.
She shakes her head. Her hands press against my chest—not pushing, but bracing. “Just…overwhelmed.” She puts her hand over my mouth, silencing me. “I know, I know.”
I wait.
She swallows hard. “Can we—could we—” she meets my eyes again. “I think I need to…stop…now.” She frowns. “I’m sorry.”
I take her hands in one of mine. Cup her cheek. “No, don’t—do not apologize. Not for anything. Certainly not for telling me you want to slow down.”
“I just…I know you’re—and I was…and we were—” she breaks off with a self-conscious laugh. “Let me try that again.”
I touch her lips with a finger, pull backward away from her, and sit on the bed. “This happens at your pace, Jo. Don’t even think about me, or what you think I want.” I kiss her cheek, the corner of her lips. “What I want is to help you feel good. I want to help you learn what you want and what you like. And that’s the real truth.”
She shakes her head, following me to the bed, standing with her thighs pressed against my knees. “Wes, I—I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work. I know I’ve never had a boyfriend before, but…I guess I feel like I’m supposed to think about you. About what you want. What you’re feeling. That’s how a relationship works, right? Each of us thinks about the other, tries to make the other person happy? I want…I want to think about you, and how the things we do affect you. Because I care about that. So, what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry for leading you on, or…or getting you worked up and then stopping. That’s what I mean to say.”
I reach up and grasp her hips. “You didn’t lead me on.”
Her eyes flick down to my groin, to the obvious protrusion there; to say I’m tenting the front of my underwear would be an egregious understatement. “Is that…does it…hurt? Like, is it uncomfortable?” She plucks at her lower lip with her teeth, seeming unable to pull her gaze away. “I mean, when it’s…um, big like that. How—how does it feel?”
I let out a breath, considering my answer. “It doesn’t hurt, no. It can be uncomfortable, sometimes, especially if it’s not, uhhh, straight, in my underwear. Like if it’s folded over or bent.”
Like it is right now; problem is, if I were to straighten it, I would for sure stick out the top of the waistband of my underwear. And I’m just not sure if she’s ready for that.
“As for how it feels?” I shrug. “I mean, how do you describe something like that? How would you describe being aroused?”
“Are you asking me?”
I nod. “Yeah, sure.”
She rolls a shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if I can say with a hundred percent certainty that I know what It means to be…aroused.” She whispers that last word.
I can’t help a naughty grin. “Well, that’s not good at all.” I stand up. “You do not have to answer this, but I admit I’m insanely curious. Have you ever given yourself an orgasm?”