When I didn’t stop him, he reached higher, grazing his fingertips up into the legs of my shorts.
I stiffened a bit but still didn’t stop him.
My shorts were tight, and his big hand going into the leg hole made them tighter, but somehow he managed to get it in there and then he was grazing my sex lightly with his knuckles.
I was intimidated, but it felt good, so I rubbed myself tentatively against the top of his hand.
He moaned into my mouth and turned his wrist until he held me in his palm.
I rubbed and rubbed against him until his hand was slick from the contact.
“Jesus,” he muttered at me. “You’re wet.”
The way he said it, like it was so significant, was foreign to me, but his tone just about did me in.
He started pushing one of his thick, blunt fingers into me and I stiffened like a board, my nails digging into his scalp.
“Mmm, God, oh God,” he breathed at me, pushing the finger in deeper and deeper, until it started to hurt.
I whimpered when he just kept pushing. He stopped at my noise but didn’t pull it out.
He didn’t budge either, just stayed where he was, panting on top of me.
“Does it hurt?” he finally got out.
“A little. What are you doing?”
He moaned and started moving his finger, pulling it out slightly then moving it back in again, though not as deep this time. “Just tell me if you’re not ready, okay? I just want to feel you with my finger. I just want to push in a little deeper, okay?”
I was not ready, but I found myself saying, ”Okay.”
He pushed it deeper until he’d reached that spot, and he was hitting against a small barrier and the pain thrummed inside of me again. He moved his finger lightly from side to side, feeling at it, exploring me without delving any deeper.
I was sure we’d gone farther than I was ready for, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.
The desperate noises he was making as he felt me for the first time were intoxicating.
I’d have given myself to him right then just to keep him in that state.
For love. For passion. For calculation. Take your pick. Each one applied.
He started thrusting in and out, in and out, stopping just shy of the barrier, but it wasn’t the best angle with how his hand was placed and after a few frustrating minutes, he pulled it out with a curse.
He panted on top of me, fists on each side of my face keeping him aloft.
Watching his pained face, I reached down and felt him through his jeans.
I’d never seen it before, but the shape of him even through his clothes fascinated me. He was so hard and there was so much of him straining to get out. I rubbed at him earnestly, learning his shape, squeezing and pulling at him through the stiff material.
Abruptly, cursing, he sprang off me and was gone, down the hall and in the bathroom with the door closed.
I stood up and followed him, not bothering to put my shirt or bra back on.
I listened at the door for one beat, two, and realizing he wasn’t going to the bathroom, I slowly opened the door.
He was at the sink, one hand braced on the wall.
He had his jeans unzipped and pulled down far enough to bare his thick, naked sex, and he had it in his hand and was frantically stroking it, yanking it hard enough that it looked like he was hurting himself.
His eyes snapped open, and he stared at me like a deer caught in headlights. Then his eyes shifted down to my breasts, and he started jerking faster.
I bit my lip, stepped inside, and shut the door behind me.
He pinned me against it and started kissing me, grabbing my hand and pushing his cock into my palm.
There was lotion by the sink, and he pulled back briefly to squirt some into my hand before he brought it back to his straining sex and started jerking himself off with both of our hands.
I tried to keep up, but I was clumsy with inexperience.
Still, it didn’t take much before he was finishing, just a few hard, long, fast motions before warm wetness was shooting out of his tip and against my naked naval.
I loved it, loved the look of madness in his eyes. Reluctantly I let go of his twitching member to put my arms around his neck and rub against him.
With a groan, he rubbed back, his hardness still spurting liquid onto my belly as he palmed my breasts and took my mouth.
Eventually he pulled back to look at me. “Did I freak you out too much?” he asked, studying my face intently.
I pulled back slightly and looked pointedly down. My hand went to touch him. He wasn’t as hard now, but he wasn’t soft either and I started playing with him.
He moaned and cursed, then started praising, growing harder by the second in my curious hand.
“No,” I finally answered. “Actually I think I’m becoming obsessed.” I squeezed his tip experimentally. “With this.”
“Let’s go to your room,” he murmured thickly, hands still at my breasts, kneading. I swear he’d have played with them every hour of the day if it were possible. He was at least as obsessed with those as I was with his newly discovered sex.
I was intimidated but I didn’t protest. I needed something more. More touching. More of his naked skin on my naked skin. Something. Anything. I couldn’t have walked away then if I tried.
When we got into my room, he moved to the foot of my bed. His jeans were still undone, but he’d tucked himself away, and as I watched, he zipped and buttoned them closed. After seeing him bare, I wondered how he even fit into his pants.