And during it all, he unapologetically watched my reactions with a smoldering gaze, not once looking away the entire time he worked me over. I’d never felt so exposed or vulnerable at the hand of a man. But logic didn’t have a prayer against my quivering, responsive body. I had no control and felt like a puppet as he manipulated my strings.
During it all, a satisfied curl tugged at his lips. He knew. He could tell I was stubbornly trying to maintain my composure. That I tried to stop from releasing one heavy breath after another. That I tried to keep my hips still, my hands from gripping his shoulders. He knew he had complete control over me, as was proved when he commanded in a gruff voice, “Let go, Jersey.”
Still, I fought him, shaking my head in frustration.
His hand instantly halted, and panic edged over the pleasure.
“Nate.”
“Yes?” He remained unmoving, waiting. “It’s not hard, Jersey. Just tell me what you want.”
This bastard. The entire act embarrassed me. I hated submitting to a man, especially him. Yet I got off on it. What a fucking contradiction. It was always that way. Since the first night against his bedroom door, it had been a battle of wills, a competition in number of orgasms, and usually I lost.
Reading my mind, he admitted, “It’s okay to give in, Jersey. If the roles were reversed, I’d have no problem telling you to finish me off. It’s simple. You ask, I do.”
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to do that. But when he pulled his hand away altogether, I did give in and admitted through clenched teeth, “I want you to make me come.”
His hand instantly resumed, his fingers back to probing, skimming, enabling me in filthy ways until pleasure once again edged over the panic. I no longer cared he had control, played me like a fiddle. And it took seconds for me to come hard and consumingly, while becoming a heaving, hot mess.
Once I calmed, he withdrew his hand and ran his tongue over his fingers while giving me a sexy wink. I had no time to recover as he positioned himself between my legs, now adding his oral skills to the mix. I had no time to argue or claim that I needed a moment to recalibrate or clear my head.
He dove in like a starving man, sucking and lapping me back into a frenzy as if he hadn’t just done so a little while ago. His large hands held my thighs open as he took what he wanted, leaving me with no choice but to climb toward another exhausting release. I knew based on the first one that this one would wreck me, because, if possible, it felt even better.
Predictably, round two in the battle to make Amy come again happened much quicker and much harder, and by the time he pulled his head up to give me a moment’s reprieve, I couldn’t move.
He could, though… and he did.
He kissed his way up my body, stopping at each breast, before kneeling between my spread thighs. I watched in a daze as he gripped the base of his dick, ran his tip over my very sensitive clit, and then slid inside me one slow inch at a time.
I shook my head, crying out, “I can’t… not yet.”
“Sure you can.” He lowered his hard body over mine, pressing me deeper into the mattress, maintaining a piston’s pace with deep, powerful drags in and out. His hands framed my face, holding me hostage to the intensity of his gaze. Instinct had me closing my lids until he demanded, “Open them,” leaving me no choice but to stare straight into his gorgeous green eyes and succumb.
In that moment, something shifted between us. Besides the obvious—that we were having sex in a bed for the first time—the other differences came on a deeper level. Through a deliciously torturous kiss—soft at first, a bit more persistent soon after—through the adoration that he wasn’t able to hide in his expression, and even through all the cocky things that he didn’t say, I knew this time it was different.
Of course my body responded as another orgasm began to simmer within me, only to detonate without warning. One moment nothing more than a spark, the next a full-blown explosion.
I clenched around him so forcefully it caused him to stop his motion and still deep inside me. Instinctively, our eyes locked in an intense staredown. I expected to see arrogance, because he once again commanded my body so thoroughly. What I saw instead was an unguarded glimpse into his soul as he came apart with abandon.
The pleasure he felt was evident on his handsome face. He never broke pace when his fingers tightened around my head and a groan rumbled through him. Without conscious thought, I held my breath during every buck of his release, and the effect caused my own orgasm to roll on and on.
What happened between us in that moment was from another realm, a reality that I’d only written about. This wasn’t fucking… it was something else. Since I had never experienced it before, I refused to label it, even though a little voice inside my head had no problem doing so.
He just made love to you.
I woke with a jolt, disoriented as to where I was or whose arm lay heavily across my naked body. Blinking to adjust to the dimness made slightly better by a slice of sunlight, it all hit me. Every delicious moment from the night before replayed in my memory.
Sure, there was an awkward stretch of time after we both came where we each didn’t know what to say to one another. He left me to get a warm wet washcloth to clean what his body left behind. But then the cocky Nate I knew well reappeared as he pulled me into his embrace, ordered me to get some rest so we could “fuck again,” and effectively killed the confusing romantic moment between us.
To be honest, I preferred that Nate over the one who’d been present a few seconds earlier. I could handle that version.
Because of the three back-to-back orgasms that I’d had, sleep came quickly for me. I wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep and didn’t want to think about him awake while I wasn’t. The way he looked so peaceful now made me smile. I stared, mesmerized as his chest rose with each breath, his ridiculously long lashes resting beneath his eyes, his perfect lips separated in a slight part.
Physically, he was so damn perfect. Sexually, beyond perfect. It satisfied me, knowing my body had the same effect on him as his had on mine. I took great pride in how he reacted every time we were together. He had no issues letting me know just what it was he wanted. And after last night, I believed I had turned a corner, no longer wanting to hold back in communicating what I wanted. Ask and I shall receive, and going forward I planned to.
Aside from all that, it was what lay beneath the manly perfection that remained an elusive mystery. The man didn’t believe in love, yet everything he did contradicted that. Either he was full of shit and hid it well, or he was a professional liar.
Who was I to talk?
As if sensing my stare, his eyes fluttered open before a slow smirk spread. “What are you looking at, Jersey?”
“You drool.” He didn’t, but lying was less embarrassing than admitting, you’re beautiful.
“Maybe because I was eating your pussy in my dream.” My gawk caused a grin… and bam… just like that I was horny for him again. “I can make that a reality, Jersey.” He glanced at the time displayed on a decorative wall clock. “It’s only eight,” he stated before shifting himself closer to nuzzle my neck. “And we have this room until eleven.” A rumbling in my stomach responded for me, and his grin widened. “Jesus.”