When Tessa nods her head, I gently place my hand over hers. My hands are so much larger than hers that her fingertips barely pass my knuckles. I bring both of our hands down my body and stop over my boxers. I help her grip my cock in her hand. She gently squeezes, and I moan and let go of her hand. She’s got this. The look on her face when she realizes she has complete control is so filthy but trying to play innocent. Her pupils are blown out, her lips are parted, and her cheeks are rosy.
“Fuck, Tessa, don’t do that,” I mutter. I’m going to explode if she gets that expression on her face again.
Tessa, taking me at my word, stills her hand. Fuck, I forgot how literal she can be.
“No, no, not that. Keep doing that—I mean don’t look at me that way,” I clarify.
Tessa bats her lashes in the most naive way. “What way?”
“That innocent way—that look that makes me want to do so many dirty things to you.” So, so many things, Theresa.
She’s nervous as she moves her hand on me. Her grip isn’t as tight as it could be, but I don’t want to point that out. She’ll get the hang of it on her own. I’ll sure as hell help her figure it out. She’s chewing on her lip as her slow strokes make me moan her name under my breath. If I could have one thing forever, this would be it.
“Fuck, Tess, your hand feels so good wrapped around me,” I moan. My words encourage her, but maybe a little too much. She squeezes me, and a soft rush of pain shoots through me. “Not that hard, baby.” I gently guide her, careful not to embarrass her.
She kisses me and continues in slow strokes. “Sorry,” she whispers against my neck as she touches her lips to my skin. She moves her tongue up my neck to the base of my ear. Fuckkkk, that feels so fucking good. I need to touch her; I’m not going to last long.
My hands find her chest, and her bra feels like a wall between her body and me.
“Can I. Take. Off. Your . . . bra?” I beg. I want to feel her sexy body. Reaching under her shirt, I can feel her perfect breasts: round and full. Tessa nods, breathless. My hands shake as I quickly unclasp the hooks and let her breasts fall. I pull the straps off her shoulders and down her arms. It requires a lot of control for me not to rip her bra off. Tessa takes her hands from me so I can remove her bra completely. I toss it onto the floor, move my hands back to her breasts, and cover her mouth with mine. I gently pinch her hardened nipples, and she moans into my kiss. I like the way she kisses, soft but frenzied. She wraps her small hand around my length and moves her hand up and down, up and down. Tessa is bringing me pleasure, in my bed, wearing my clothes.
“Oh, Tessa, I’m going to come,” I breathe. My body is out of my control. Tessa has become the puppet master, gathering and pulling every sensation out of me like the strings of a marionette. I’m on fire and in an ocean of ice at once, and I can barely keep my mouth from shouting her name. I concentrate on kissing her, massaging her sweet tongue with mine. My hands are still rubbing her chest. Her moans let me know how much she likes it. I drop my hands from her tits as I climax. The warmth of my come spreading through my boxers feels like the relief of letting out a thousand breaths.
When the rush starts to diminish, I drop my head back and close my eyes. Tessa stays sitting on my thighs. I’m glad. Despite popular belief, I’ve died and gone to heaven, I’m sure of it. I feel Tessa getting anxious, so I open my eyes and look at her. I’m a little nervous about how well I’m catching on to her little quirks. She smiles at me, and my nerves are calmed. I smile back and lean in to kiss her on her forehead. She sighs and I like the sound.
“I’ve never come like that before,” I share with her. I like that she’s giving me new experiences.
“It was that bad?” she asks, horrified and jumping to conclusions.
“What? No, you were that good. It usually takes more than someone just grabbing me through my boxers.”
She stares into space and doesn’t respond. Something is off. I try to repeat the last thirty seconds in my head to see if I offended her. I don’t think I did. I decide to ask, “What are you thinking?”
She doesn’t answer. She accuses me of being uncommunicative, but she herself is that way with me.
“Oh, come on, Tessa, just tell me,” I complain. She always tries to keep things from me but expects me to give her thorough explanations all the time. So I decide to tickle her. The old sitcoms I watched as a kid taught me that tickling is an easy way to get women to talk, plus it adds flirty points. And I need as many of those cute, little flirty things as I can get.
“Okay . . . okay! I’ll tell you!” Tessa shrieks, her legs kicking like a horse’s. She looks silly with her face scrunched up, teeth bared, kicking at me to stop tickling her. My stomach is in a knot from laughing.
“Good choice,” I say, feeling the wetness in my boxers. “But hold that thought. I need to take a quick shower and put on clean boxers.”
I didn’t bring a change of clothes, and I only have shirts in my car trunk right now. As I stand up, I look around the room for an option. The dresser is full of clothes; Karen told me it was. I’ve fought the idea—it’s creepy, really, that she filled up a dresser of clothes for someone who doesn’t want anything to do with her.
Fuck it. I don’t have any other options, and Karen really isn’t that bad. I broke her entire dining room into pieces; I guess I can make her happy by wearing her charity donations. I hope for the best when I open the drawer. My hope is crushed when my eyes meet a sea of plaid underwear. Blue and white, red and white, green and red, red and blue, white and green. It’s endless. I want to slam the drawer shut, but I’m desperate here. I grab the least offensive one, a blue-and-white pair, and hold it between my thumb and index finger as if it’s contaminated.
“What?” Tessa asks. She lifts up, rests on her elbows, and looks at me. I’m entertaining her; she’s having fun here. I can see it in her eyes. Each minute I spend with her, I know her better.
“These boxers are hideous,” I groan. Plaid? Cotton? Size XL? Who is she shopping for?
“They aren’t so bad,” she lies. I hold the blue-and-white-plaid monstrosity in the air and shake my head.
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers. Back in a minute.” I grab the ugly-ass boxers and leave the room without looking back at Tessa in the bed. On my way to the bathroom I pass Landon’s room. I touch my ear to the door. I’m not surprised when I hear some character in a movie say something about elves. I knock lightly to be sure Tessa doesn’t hear me. I listen for him to answer, but it’s late, so he probably fell asleep watching Twilight. I knock again, and the door opens. His face is relaxed at first, until he realizes that it’s me. I step toward him, and he holds his hands up in front of him in defense.