I used to be so self-conscious when my high school boyfriend did this to me. It was always too intimate, made me feel exposed, but with Logan I’m too consumed with pleasure to care how vulnerable this position makes me.
My hips strain to meet him, aching for more, and he chuckles and gives me the contact I crave. He wraps his lips around my clit and sucks, and if I hadn’t been lying down, I would have keeled right over. Pleasure shoots up my spine and surges through my bloodstream, and when he pushes one long finger inside me, my mind fragments into a million pieces. I come faster than I expect. Faster than he expects, and he groans as I convulse against his face, his tongue and finger working me through the orgasm.
As I crash back to earth, he lifts his head with a soft curse. “I love making you come,” he mumbles. “It’s so fucking hot.” His finger slides out, then in again, and an aftershock of pleasure sizzles through me. “And you’re so fucking wet.”
I whimper when his finger disappears, but the disappointment is replaced with pulsing excitement, because he’s reaching into the top drawer on the night table to grab a condom. Swallowing hard, I watch him roll it down the length of his shaft. Skillfully. God, he’s probably rolled on a million condoms in his lifetime. He’s pretty much a sexpert.
What if I suck at sex?
My heart gallops at a breakneck speed when he lowers his strong body over mine. His lips brush my temple. Softly. Sweetly. “You sure about this?” he whispers.
I gaze up at him, my worries fading away. “Yes.”
His features are taut in concentration as he brings his erection to my opening. He nudges forward, and I tense involuntarily. The intrusion is barely a millimeter deep, but the pressure is intense. His cock is a lot bigger than the one finger he’d just had inside me.
“Are you okay?” His voice is husky, laced with concern.
“Yes,” I say again.
Heat unfurls in my core, and my clit pulses in time to my rapid heartbeat. Logan eases in half an inch, where he meets resistance. It’s a foreign sensation, but not unpleasant. Beads of sweat dot his forehead, and the tendons of his neck strain, as if he’s fighting for control.
Anticipation that borders on dread lodges in my chest. It’s probably the worst possible comparison to draw right now, but this reminds me of the first time my mom took me to the salon to get my legs waxed. Lying there while the hot wax was applied to my skin, watching the esthetician grip the corner of the warm strip, anticipating the pain as I waited for her to rip it off.
“I think we need to Band-Aid this,” I blurt out. “Forget slow. Just do it fast.”
He chokes out a laugh. “I don’t want to hurt you.” In fact, he’s stopped moving altogether, his erection neither plunging nor retreating. Just…there.
“What’s the matter, Johnny? Scared?”
Defiance flares in his eyes. “Mocking a guy isn’t gonna get you laid, baby.”
“Stalling isn’t going to, either.” I grin up at him. “Come on, baby. Deflower me.”
Logan keeps one hand on my hip, but lifts the other to my mouth, giving my lower lip a chastising pinch. “Don’t rush me, woman.” His gaze softens as he sweeps it over my face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes—”
That one measly syllable barely leaves my mouth before he plunges deep. I gasp, the jolt of pain taking me by surprise.
He’s all the way inside, and from the tight stretch of his features, I know he’s forcing himself to remain still.
“You with me?” he murmurs.
I nod. The pain is already abating. I tentatively move my hips, and his eyes roll to the top of his head. “Jesus Christ,” he croaks.
God, why isn’t he moving? I feel so completely full, yet oddly empty.
He once again checks in on my mental, emotional and physical state. “How’re you doing?”
I roll my eyes. “Great. How about you?”
“I’m dying here.” Finally, finally, he does something other than lie motionless on top of me. His erection inches out, just slightly, then glides back in.
Pleasure shoots through me. “Oh, do that again.”
“You sure? I’m trying to give you time to adjust.”
“I’m good. I swear.”
His mouth finds mine in a sweet, tender kiss, and then his hips begin to move. Thrusting and retreating in a lazy rhythm that draws a shaky noise from my throat. I hold on tight, digging my fingers into his strong back.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he rasps.
I do, and the angle changes immediately, deeper contact, locking our bodies tighter than before. He fills me, over and over again, each long stroke intensifying the ache inside me, until every square inch of skin is hot and tight and screaming for relief. I need more. My clit is swollen, throbbing. I reach between us and rub it, and the extra stimulation is glorious.
Logan’s elbows rest on either side of my head as he increases the pace, his hips snapping forward, his lips latched on mine as if he can’t bear not kissing me. When he hits a spot deep inside, the tension explodes in an orgasm so intense I don’t even make a sound. I arch my spine and slam my eyes shut, my breath stuck in my throat, my lips glued to his.
“Oh fuck.” He slams in one last time. His back, damp with sweat, trembles beneath my palms as he grunts in release.
His heart hammers against my breasts, and I feel almost smug, because I did this to him. I made him curse and groan and wobble as if the world beneath his feet had vanished. I made him come apart.