She did it. Took him in slowly, by degrees, and cradled him there, hoping he’d make use of her mouth. He didn’t move. Confounded, she sealed her lips tight and retreated a bit, hugging him as tightly as possible with as much of her mouth as she could manage. She bobbed at the crown and repeated. All around her muscles twitched—his hands, his thighs, even his breath came in erratic pants—but he didn’t move. Not the slightest thrust. Balanced on her knees, one hand splayed over his thigh, she snuck the other down and cupped his balls.
“Ah, Jesus.” The hands in her hair tightened, held her head down for one breathless moment while his hips surged upward—once, twice, a third time, long and deep enough to bring tears to her eyes and a choked noise to the back of her throat. Before she could truly savor the thrill of driving him beyond control, he withdrew, gasping, and lay back on the bed. “What do you think, Izzy? You ready to let me really scratch that itch of yours?” He held his cock out, so it stood straight up. “No matter how tricky it is, or how hard to reach, I’ve got the right tool for the job. I promise.”
As if her body replied on her behalf, her insides clenched hard—startlingly hard—and the ache inside her intensified to something unbearable. “Yes. God, yes.” She scrambled to straddle him, but he clasped her hips and guided her to the side.
“Sit tight.” Rolling, reaching, treating her to the sight of his long, naked body in action, he opened a nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom. The square looked small in his hands, the contents certainly too one-size-fits-all for his one-of-a-kind cock, but within seconds he proved it fit perfectly. As if it had been tailor-made for him. Would their fit be as perfect?
This time when she started to straddle his lap, he helped her into position. She stayed high on her knees, felt the heat of him, then the smooth blunt head brush her folds. Should she go straight down? Lean forward and kind of back up on him? This might be easier if he’d just roll her under him and fuck her.
You’re taking too long. Say something sexy.
Staring into his eyes, she whispered, “It’s been over a year since I’ve done this.”
He squeezed her butt encouragingly. “It’s like riding a bike.”
A cringeworthy memory snuck into her mind. “The last time I rode a bike it was too big for me. I lost control, crashed into my date, and sprained his thumb.”
His laugh shook his whole body, jostled his dick between her legs like a giant tease. “Izzy, I swear nothing you’re about to ride is too big for you, nobody’s going to crash, and nothing’s going to get sprained. Take it as slow as you want. Take as much as you want. It’s all up to you.”
She wished she shared his confidence. What if after all this buildup, she couldn’t come. What if he couldn’t? She was sinking too deep into her own head, and she knew it. What if the whole thing was a fail because of her? She might burst into bitter tears right there in his bed. Men loved that, didn’t they? Stalling, she looked left, then right, then back at him. “Got any training wheels around here?”
His lips quirked, but then he furrowed his brows and leveled a scowl on her. “Isabelle.”
“What?”
“Get on my dick. Now. Before I flip you over and stick my tongue in your—”
“I’m getting on! Right now. Just…” She swallowed the little bubble of hysteria rising in her throat. “Give me a second to figure out.” Lean forward, she decided. It seemed roomier that way, and then sort of back him in.
The drawback to that approach, she soon discovered, was not having a visual on him. Backing up with no rearview mirror, basically, which left plenty of room for error. Luckily, Trace got gist of what she was trying to do, reached down and angled himself right where he needed to be, and… “Oh sweet Jeeeeeez…” Penetration. Not a lot, yet, but actual penetration with an actual living, breathing, breathtakingly male man. Her eyes wanted to close at the perfection of the moment, but she forced them open because she wanted to see him. Wanted to see if he enjoyed first contact as much as she did.
That was disconcertingly hard to judge, she discovered. What should she make of all his gorgeous muscles strained to the breaking point, his shadowed jaw tightly locked, and twin beams of blue lasering into her from beneath dark brows?
“Oh my God. Trace, are you okay?”
The question garnered her a pained smile. “I’m dying, but in a good way. I don’t want to rush things, and I’m not going to move ’til you’re ready, but… Baby, can you take a little more?”
Mercy, this man. That he would bank all that strength, hold his urges in check just to ensure her comfort melted that cold ball of insecurity inside her. Finding her own smile, she slowly pushed herself into an upright position, which automatically lodged him deeper. Her body stretched. His thickened. Their moans merged.
“Christ, that’s good.” His words were little more than a growl.
Her inner muscles quivered. Her neck muscles gave out. She tipped her head down and looked at him. “It is so good. I don’t want to rush things either, but I think…I have to move now.” Her hips had a mind of their own. They jerked forward, and… No, no! He nearly slipped out.
“Hold on. Wait.” He captured her hips in his hands again. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you in the saddle.” Before she could form the question in her mind, he sat up in an ab-crunching display of strength and backstopped her with his thighs. Her knees still supported her, and allowed her to control the pace, the depth of penetration. His consideration brought tears to her eyes.
“Okay?” His gaze roamed over her face.
She nodded. “I think I’m going to cry.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “Don’t cry.”
“I’ll try not to.” Experimentally, she rocked her hips, and little lights exploded behind her eyes. Addicted, she continued to move. “I’ve never felt this. It’s never been this…intense.”
Warm hands smoothed up her sides, encouraging. “I know. I know. I’m right there, too.”
Work-toughened palms found her breasts. Cupped them. Squeezed them. She tried to say please and thank you, and more, more, more, but maybe the words never left her lips because he asked, “Do you like it, Izzy? Do you like when I hold your beautiful tits? Keep them from bouncing too hard?” He swept his hands along the undersides. “Do you need a gentle touch, or do you like when I do this?” He caught her nipple between his thumb and index finger and plucked the stiff peak.
Words tumbled from her tongue then, so quickly she could barely keep track of them. She gripped his shoulders, trying to convey meaning with her touch—the feel of his hands on her breasts, the feel of his cock inside her, the sweet agony of this journey she was making, this destination she raced toward. If felt tantalizingly close. It felt exhaustingly far off. She wanted to make sure he was coming along for the ride, but she kept losing track of everything except the frenzy of sensation unspooling inside her.