“Like you have to pee?”
“Yes,” she says, throwing an arm over her face. “Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed.”
I don’t stop what I’m doing. “It’s normal. Just let the feeling pass, darling. Ride it out. Ride it out on my fingers.”
Her legs move around me, her bare toes squeezing and digging into my sofa, as I carefully work the inside of her, and then just as I see her belly relax and her body-panic transform back into pleasure, I lower my mouth and trace the point of my tongue over her stiffened clit.
“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh.”
I alternate long licks and flickers of my tongue, my finger doing its work all the while and rubbing the inside of her wet little cunt, and then my skittish sort-of virgin starts panicking again.
“I—” she can’t find words, but her body is fighting itself, seeking release and also scared of the immense wall of sensation roaring ever closer, and I decide she needs a little persuasion to get all the way there. I take the entire bead of her clit into my mouth and suck.
The response is immediate, gratifying, electric. Something like a keening whimper echoes off the stained concrete and glass of my apartment as her feet dig deeper into the sofa and she arches her body, her inner thighs and belly going taut as a drumskin. And then the first rolling wave hits her, sending my name out of her mouth like a prayer, sending images of stained glass and gold-stitched cloth through my mind, sending spasms and butterfly flutters around my finger and against my tongue as she comes for the first time with me.
It won’t be the last. It won’t even be the last time tonight.
I coax her through the final waves with my mouth and my finger, watching her gorgeous face over the rise of her pubic bone and the planes of her stomach, watching how her eyebrows pinch together in something almost like worry, how her lips work around silent words, how her eyes stare down at me in glazed wonder. And then with a final kiss on her clit, I straighten up and slide my finger out of her, sucking it into my mouth to lick it clean.
Her eyes widen a little, as if she’s never imagined something quite so carnal as a man licking his fingers after touching a woman, and I smirk at her.
“I get a lot dirtier than that, darling. So buckle up.”
Chapter 14
Zenny stares hazily up at me, languid-limbed, redolent of sex, and in a stunningly lovely sprawl that I wish I could look at for the rest of my life; the way her legs are parted easily now, her well-pleasured cunt available to view. The slowing, sated breaths of a woman coming down from orgasm.
“How did you like being eaten, sweetheart?”
“I like it a lot,” she murmurs. “Will you do it again, please?”
I laugh, pleased by her eagerness. “Any time you want. I believe I once promised you that I would show you how I can eat you from behind.”
Her mouth twitches up in a smile. “You did promise that.”
I’m on my knees at the edge of the sofa still, running soothing hands up and down her legs, trying to ignore my cock, which also wants a soothing hand up and down it. “How often do you masturbate?”
There goes that arm over her face again. “I don’t know if I can talk about this.”
I make a noise that would be called a scoff in a Wakefield novel. “Zenny Iverson, the girl who marched into this same apartment and demanded sex, is too shy to talk about masturbation?”
“It’s different,” she says into the crook of her elbow. “Completely different.”
“It’s all sex. And you might as well tell me about it before I make you do it in front of me.”
The arm moves and she looks at me with a blend of intrigue and alarm. “People do that?”
“People have thirty-person orgies and fuck themselves with dildos shaped like Thor’s hammer. I would think masturbating in front of a lover is one of the mildest things one can do.”
That makes her smile again. “Am I your lover?”
“You’re mine,” I say simply, crawling up onto the couch and over her body.
“For a month,” she corrects.
“For a month,” I repeat. “Until you marry Jesus or whatever.” Details, details.
I settle between her legs, groaning when my clothed erection makes contact with her mound and ducking my head down to nip at the tip of her breast before I slide my arms under her shoulders, prop up on my elbows and stare down at her. “Now. Tell me how you touch yourself when you’re alone and how often you do it.”
She turns her head away, but with me on top of her like this, there’s no escaping my gaze, my words.
“Do you use a vibrator?” I ask her, dropping a kiss on the sharp line of her jaw. “Or your fingers? Or do you put a pillow between your legs and rub against it until you feel better?”
My words have the desired effect, making her redden faintly at the rounds of her cheeks and making her breath quicken. “I’ve never used a vibrator,” she whispers. “But a pillow…”
“Yes?”
“And a stuffed animal…this teddy bear I got for my high school graduation. He’s on my bed in my dorm room. Oh God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“I can’t either. I’m going to beat myself raw thinking about this for years to come, darling. How do you use the teddy bear? On your side? Do you lay on your belly and grind on him from the top?”
“I straddle him,” she says, closing her eyes, her face still turned away. “I put him between my legs and move on top of him while I’m on my knees.”
“Shit,” I groan, my face dropping to the rose-scented curve of her neck. The image of Zenny in her dorm room rubbing her needy pussy against a teddy bear is almost too much to hold in my mind. And I’m going to hell for imagining her in knee socks, surrounded by girlish posters, a barely matured girl overwhelmed with these big womanly needs…
“What?” she asks uncertainly. “Is that really fucked up?”
“It’s really fucking hot is what it is,” I mumble into her neck. “And I’m having a really hard time keeping it together right now.”
“Really?” she asks, turning her head back to me. “That turns you on?”
I take her hand and guide it down to the indisputable evidence of my being turned on. “Feel for yourself.”
Her slender hand traces my cock through my slacks, any clumsiness outweighed by her eager curiosity. “I’ve never…” she clears her throat. “That time with Isaac, I never really got to see him. I’ve never been able to see this part of a boy.”
I give her a long kiss, parting her lips with my own and chasing the silky feel of her tongue until she’s panting and twisting underneath me. Then I get up onto my knees. “You showed me your pussy,” I say. “Now it’s my turn to show you something.”
She scrambles up to her elbows, excited. “Are you going to have sex with me now?”
Fuck, I wish. “Not yet, baby. We’re still in Sex 101 right now—and intercourse is a senior thesis at the very least. Get on your knees in front of the couch.”
Together we move, so that I’m standing directly in front of the couch and she’s kneeling in front of me, peering up with these big schoolgirl eyes. She’s sucking on one corner of her mouth, and I can just picture her in a classroom with this same expression—wide-eyed, concentrating, poised to raise her hand at any moment.