After a while, I’m ready to be out of the tub and in bed with him.
I want to finish what we started in the tub.
Maybe even finish it in a new way.
“I think I’m ready to get out,” I whisper.
He’s set towels aside for us, and he gets out first, towels off quickly and wraps it around his waist, and then holds the other out for me, wrapping around me as I step out.
I dry off, and then drape the towel on the tub, which he’s set to drain while I was drying off. I reach for his towel and tug it free. “You don’t need this.”
He’s fully erect, a thick pink-tan rod flat against his belly, straining. I want him.
I want to make love to him.
Right now.
I take him by the hand, lead him to the bed. To our bed.
Climb in, toss the covers aside. He follows, and lays on his back, curls me into his arms. As if he’s trying to slow this down.
I rest against his chest, gaze up at him. He’s watching me, and I see the heat in his eyes, the desire. But I also see a hesitation. Something else.
I wonder if he’s still holding back because he’s worried about me physically.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Wes,” I whisper.
He rolls a shoulder. “I…” a sigh. “I…”
I don’t like the hesitation. It’s not distance—he’s here with me, and the desire for me is plain as day in his face, but there’s something holding him back. I grasp him, touch him slowly, caressing him.
“Tell me, Wes. Please?”
He closes his eyes as I touch. “The way you touch me, Jo…god, it feels good.”
I squirm closer to him, wriggle higher, lean against him and drape one leg over his, thighs parted. Touch his hand and guide it to me. “I love how you touch me too, Wes.” I rub against his fingers. “I want you.”
He closes his eyes. “I want you too.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
“What’s stopping me is I want you too much.”
I laugh. “No such thing.”
He grits his teeth as I continue slowly caressing his length, the way I know he enjoys best: with a squeeze around the top and a twist at the bottom, on the way back up. “It’s more that…as much as I love doing this stuff, just touching…I want…more. With you. And I have plans for us, tomorrow. And I don’t want to…to rush.”
I stop stroking, just hold him. “Plans, huh? Like what?”
“Well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Just…a romantic date. Something hopefully magical, and romantic, and…”
I let go of him and clasp his face in my hands. “Wes…” I feel bold. I swing a leg over him, sit astride his hips. “I want a magical, romantic date with you so bad. That means more to me than I can say.” I lick my lips and sort through my feelings. “But don’t think that what we do, here, together, in bed, is…is tied to that date.”
“I just…” He holds my hips in his hands, thumbs caressing the divot and crease where my legs bend at the hip bones. “The next step for us is…is making love. Like, all the way. And I want that to be…incredible. I want your first time, our first time, to be…magical. Special.”
I fall forward and press my forehead to his. “How can you be so freaking sweet and sexy at the same time?”
He laughs. “I just want to make every moment we have together something we’ll never forget. And your first time should be…special.”
“I don’t know if I can argue with that.” I inhale slowly. It would be so easy, right now, to just…move slightly. Slip him where he belongs, and take us there. I can feel myself doing it. “I want it to be magical and special, too.”
He groans. “You straddling me like this is…erotic as hell, Jo.” He laughs. “It’s confusing me.”
“Want me to get off?”
He laughs. “Get off? Or get off of me?”
I moan a laugh. “Set myself up for that one.” I grasp him, stroke him. “Problem is, Wes…I want you right now. Right here, just like this.”
“Jo,” he breathes. One hand grips my hip, the other presses a fingertip to my seam. Slides down. “I want to give you everything.”
“All I want is you, Wes.” I sit upright. Lift up on my knees. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know this feels right. “This would be magical. And romantic.”
He groans, eyes closing, jaw clenching. “Jo, god, Jo. I want to be inside you.”
“I want to know what that feels like. I want you to be inside me. I want to make love with you, Wes.”
He groans again, and then suddenly I’m on my back and his mouth is on mine, and his kiss is fierce, hungry, and wild. Just for a moment, and then he’s off me and stalking into the bathroom.
Stunned, I lie in bed, wondering what just happened. I glance, and see him standing facing the mirror, hands braced on the frame of the vanity, spine arched, taut bubble of his buttocks tensed. Shoulders bowed. Fighting with himself.
I rise, move up behind him. He starts at my touch, as I wrap my arms around him from behind, clutching his broad shoulders and thick chest. “Hey, what’s going on, Wes?”
“I almost lost control, Jo. I want to make your first time something truly…memorable. Not just…a moment of desire, but an intentional memory we make together.”
My heart aches for the intensity in his voice. “I love you for that, Wes.”
He stills further.
I rest my cheek against his back. “I don’t take it back. I love you for that. For a lot of reasons.” I kiss between his shoulder blades. “I don’t need that, though, Wes. I just need you.”
“But I want to give it to you.”
“It’s important to you?”
“Isn’t it, for you?”
I nod. “I’ve dreamed about my first time a lot. And since meeting you, I’ve thought about it a lot. And what you’re describing, a romantic date together that culminates in us making love? That sounds like this fairy tale I’m living made even more magical.”
“And that’s why I stopped. Because I want you, and I was about to let us…ruin that.”
I laugh. “It wouldn’t ruin anything.”
He huffs. “You know what I mean.”
“I know that you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. There’s nothing you can do that would disappoint me or let me down or upset me, Wes…except suddenly not want me.”
“I didn’t stop us because I wanted to. Or because I don’t want you.”
I glide my hand down his chest, to his belly. To his erection. “So I could still do this?”
He stands upright, and now I can watch us in the mirror, my body almost entirely hidden behind his, just my pale, freckled forearm and small hand visible, and some of my face and bright orange hair.
“You could,” he murmurs.
I clasp him in both hands. Caress him. Slowly. Take my time. Feel him, enjoy the weight and thickness of him in my hands. Enjoy watching us in the mirror—it’s beautiful. His manhood, my hands. The contrast. The eroticism of it, us, reflected.