Control (13 page)

I slide myself back and forth, back and forth – nice and quick – before he can say anything. And after that, I’m pretty sure he forgets. He jerks forward in what seems like an instinctive sort of way when I rock into him, and then when my legs are hooked over his hips, he just has to test the waters further.

He gets this little jerky, shallow rhythm going – one that makes that flush on his cheeks spread down over his neck and chest. But it’s not quite enough – not for me, or for him – and it’s obvious he’s holding back. The time comes for him to speed up and hit it hard, but instead he just shudders all over, and makes these bone-melting desperate sounds. Almost like
ohs
, but not quite.

‘Don’t worry, don’t worry,’ I tell him, but I don’t think my words come out right, either, and his
ohs
definitely get louder when I add, ‘You won’t hurt me, fuck me hard, OK? Fuck me, Gabe.’

But he still holds himself back. I can feel his body, straining against the leash. His thrusts turn sloppy and uncoordinated, and the sound he makes when he presses his face into the crook of my neck – it’s almost like a sob.

I just have to fuck myself on him. It’s not difficult – I just grab a handful of his arse and rut up and down beneath him like a maniac, sobbing myself whenever that gorgeous cock rubs hard and solid against that sweet spot inside me.

His belly keeps grazing my clit, too – which is more maddening, than anything else. But luckily he hasn’t forgotten his manners, because he lifts himself up and gets a hand between our bodies.

Those two fingers, sliding down. And down. And down. Oh.

But I only come, when he says, ‘Yes, yes. Fuck me harder.’

Both because of the gasping, breathless, slutty tone to his voice, and the realisation that his body is jolting and juddering like that because I’m ramming myself down on his cock.

I say his name. I don’t care. I don’t think my pussy has ever clamped down so hard on anything in all its days, and I know I’ve never gone so tense, all over. When he goes to move his hand away I mash mine down on top of it, because it’s so good and so expansive that I don’t mind it going on for ever – long past the point where it’s comfortable.

When I finally come out of it, he looks sweaty and startled and in absolute agony – though I don’t think we’ve been having this weird push-me-pull-you sex for all that long.

‘You seemed to … like that,’ he says, half trying to laugh, I think, but he doesn’t laugh at all when I tell him it’s his turn, now. He tries to say some desperate unsure thing like
I can’t get there
, but that’s OK because it’s obvious why.

‘Harder,’ I tell him, and when he tries to squirm out of it I
order
him. I think I maybe call him my fucktoy. I tell him I want my fucktoy to do it to me so hard I won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, and in response he tries an experimental thrust.

It’s pathetic, really.

‘I can see I’m going to have to spank you, until you do it right,’ I say, and he moans
no, Maddie
.
Don’t
.

While pushing his arse into the sudden firm clasp of my hand. It’s an awkward twist to do it, but worth it for the way he bites his lip too hard, and shivers once, like a wet dog. When I do smack him, it’s more of a firm and sudden squeeze, a handful of arse that makes him surge forward.

I think I choke on his cock. But it’s OK, it’s good. He draws back and then seems to fumble his way to an almost hard enough rhythm – which improves, when I slap and squeeze again. In fact, it improves so much that I feel my inner thighs go oddly weak, at the firm and constant pressure right … there.

He’s kind of still twisted to one side, a little, and the way he rolls his hips … God. No snapping back and forth like a jackhammer – actual rolling, hard and steady. One of his hands goes to my hip and … I don’t know. I think he just presses down, but it feels like a trigger. It sets off something tense and heated.

I definitely pant for him to keep doing that, and it’s then that his body tightens. I see it happen, and know he’s holding it off – breathing suddenly absent and lips pressed together in a thin line.

So I dig
my
nails in, and watch him jerk against me, all that pent up need coming out of him in a sound I never thought I’d hear him make. It’s loud and frantic and he can’t seem to stop once he’s started; he squeezes hard enough to leave bruises, at my hip.

I feel him swell inside me – impossible as that seems – and then his eyes snap open and he tells me
Maddie, Maddie
, as his body jerks through an orgasm that never ends.

When he’s finally through, I think he’s managed to lock himself in one position. His hand won’t unclasp from my hip, and I notice his other hand has fisted the pillow into some impossible shape.

It takes some unwinding and unravelling. And when I finally manage it, he collapses all over me like an undercooked soufflé. Hugs me and hugs me and won’t let me go.

But I don’t mind. I don’t. I really don’t think I mind any of this, at all.

I
THINK I DOZED
. I’m sure there was a dream about some sort of Christopher-Pike-Gabe-turns out-to-be-an-alien-thing. He probably is, come to think of it. Cosmo never talks about men like him.

But I come to rested and warm and still weak from the waist down, curled around his pillow. I can’t remember the last time someone owned a pillow in my bed, but there it is. And he does.

He can have all my pillows, for being seated against the wall by the closed door, legs crooked up, with a book between them.

He’s wearing one of my towels around his waist, but other than that he’s naked. Just seated there, half-nude, uncaring! I want to ruffle his still wet hair. I want to kick him for not waking me up for shower time. It would have been a real treat, to see him trying to scrub away naughty sex.

But then he looks up, face lineless and open, and I don’t think he really believes that we’re being naughty. Instead he focuses on the silliest, most innocuous thing:

‘You don’t mind, do you? That I had a shower? I didn’t think you’d mind.’

‘Why would I mind?’ I ask, and am shocked by how sleepy and satisfied it comes out. I’m practically drawling. And I think I can still feel the echo of his cock, between my legs.

He shrugs one shoulder. He really has the most adorable bashful look – lips sort of turned inwards, eyebrows raised.

‘Didn’t think you’d mind the book, either. You seem to enjoy encouraging my education.’

I laugh, at that – though it too comes out warm and dozy. How did he manage to make me so comfortable, in my own skin? Wish I knew.

‘I do,’ I say. ‘I’m all for bettering oneself.’

He glances at the cover – a classic:
Ultimate Threesomes Four
– and laughs right back at me. Though when he laughs, it’s never really that. It’s more of a sound, struggling to fight past his lips. A little chuff, pulled right out of him.

‘Is it good?’

Again, a one-shouldered shrug.

‘
Ultimate Threesomes Two
was definitely the masterpiece of the quartet. This one’s lacking.’ He tosses it aside. ‘I wasn’t really reading it, anyway.’

‘Oh, that old excuse.’

‘I wasn’t. I wouldn’t lie. I don’t have to lie, with you.’

He meets my gaze, steady as anything. Mine’s not doing quite as good.

‘Mainly I was just … looking at you. You went to sleep in the crook of my arm – never had anyone do that before.’

I keep my eyes on him. I keep them there. I don’t try and get away. Especially as I think he’s just going to keep talking. He seems completely relaxed, and he’s going to keep talking. I wonder how much of it I can take.

‘But then I was just creepily staring at you, so I thought I’d better get up and distract myself. Shower. Books. The books didn’t work very well.’

‘You weren’t looking at me, when I woke up.’

‘Lucky, I guess. Though I
have
just told you all of this, so …’

‘Pointless, trying to hide your creepy staring.’

‘Exactly.’

He breaks off the locked gaze thing, then. Maybe he couldn’t stand it – I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like it, but what do I know? I’m some sort of insane emotional cripple.

‘You know – I think there are some clothes that would fit you, in the drawer over there,’ I say, and only when he gets up do I know why I directed him to them – because he won’t be facing me any more. He won’t.

And I can say the words I want to say when his back is to me, with the sound turned down.

The next time I wake up, it’s after a take-out dinner in bed, and more talk about random things that somehow lead to me wanting to declare undying love, and it’s late. Around 3 a.m., I think, though the sudden warzone bed doesn’t seem to know it.

Did he really think I wouldn’t feel it shaking, like that? He’s not exactly gentle, when he jerks off. He’s vigorous, and hard on himself, and God it makes me wet just listening to him trying to be quiet.

Though I kind of suspect that he’s not exactly trying to be as quiet as he can be. He hasn’t got his hand pressed to his mouth, for a start. I can hear him breathing too hard and occasionally stifling a moan against the seam of his lips.

And when I say his name, he just moans louder.

‘You could have woken me, you know,’ I say into the semi-darkness, and I can hear his hand speeding up on his cock. That slick, rapid sound – ah, delicious.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t sleep very well. Especially when – especially with – oh, oh yes – Maddie!’

‘Are you going to come?’

‘Soon. It’s really coming easy.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘You should – ah!’

I listen to him going at it for a few blissful seconds more, then have to get him over here. I’m human – there’s only so much I can take.

So I reach behind myself and fumble over whatever I can find, until his hand stills and his body stills and he does his little non-laugh.

‘I don’t know if I can ask you for sex,’ he says, through said amused sound. And I suppose it is amusing, really. We’re both stumbling around in the dark, unsure. Happy, somehow, to be unsure.

‘You can ask me for anything. Come up against me, OK?’

He does as I ask far too slowly, settling around the curve of my body with an even more amused
are we spooning now?
To which I reply that I guess we are. He isn’t touching himself any more, but I can feel the hot press of his erection, against my bare back. Against my arse, occasionally – not sliding in or between anything, but certainly eager.

And then his arm loops over and around me, and he pushes his face – his mouth – against the all too sensitive nape of my neck. When I shiver, he pulls away a little, startled. But I soon fix that with a hand behind me, on the nape of
his
neck.

I clamp down hard, and yank him back rough, and now it’s his turn to shiver.
Do what you want
, I tell him, and his hand immediately comes up to cup and squeeze my right breast. Though it’s not him suddenly tugging at my nipple – just once, light and good – that pushes me over the edge into do-anything-excitement. It’s when I feel his tongue sliding cool and slick over the back of my neck.

That’s when I buck and order him to put his hand between my legs. Of course, by this point I’m sure he’d get there eventually, all on his own. He’s got my tits and all the licking in hand, after all. But I won’t lie – I don’t want to wait.

And he doesn’t make me. He slides his hand down my belly and squeezes between my closed thighs, wriggling his way in until he’s cupping my sex in almost the same way as he’d cupped my breast. Insistently, firmly.

‘What do you want me to do next?’ he says, and my mind forgets everything, everything but him. I could eat those words, every time he says or implies them.

Instead, I squirm back against the heated bar of his cock. He makes a little startled sound, and backs off – though his hand remains exactly where it is. His shoulder clicks, somewhere close to my ear – probably trying hard to stay in its socket.

‘Tell me what to do,’ he demands, again, and really – who am I to deny him?

‘Rub my clit until I come,’ I say, then think to add, ‘And don’t do anything to yourself, while you do me. Not anything. Understood?’

There’s a pause, and when he speaks it’s hoarse and faint.

‘I don’t think I can wait much longer.’

And it’s the weirdest thing. I am almost certain that he’s only saying that for my benefit. In fact, I think I know it. I do know it. He’s now somehow aware enough of my likes and dislikes to understand that I enjoy the idea of him not being able to wait.

Like he’s going to go off any second while he’s touching me, and come all over my back and my arse. Like he’s so excited that he’s going to fail, and fall to frantic jerking off in the middle of making me come.

‘You can finish after I’ve gone – any sooner and I’ll be very disappointed. You don’t want that, do you?’

‘No, God – no. Help me, though – show me how you like it. You like it quick and light, don’t you, Maddie? Just like this. In circles, like this.’

I try to get words out. I try. But he’s doing exactly what he’s saying and by God he’s right.

‘Because I’ll bet it feels good when you really press down hard on your clit, but teasing makes it better, in the end.’

He really is good at putting theory, into practice.

‘Maybe that’s why you hold off all the time, and get me to put on a show for you. So it’s better when you finally get it.’ He’s half right, this time. ‘Sometimes I do the same thing. I wait, and wait, and then when I do it I stroke lightly, like this, because I know I need pressure to really get off. And it feels so good, so good, when I go a little faster, a little harder. It feels so good to talk to you like this, Maddie.’

It’s fabulous that he’s really finding his voice. Because I seem to have lost mine. I press my face into the pillow, and squeeze my grip tight around his straining-to-work hand. I think he’s got just his middle finger on my clit, and it feels like it’s barely touching. It feels like it’s setting me on fire, right there.

‘I guess I’m talking dirty to you,’ he says, after a moment of this torture – but it’s his little bemused and shocked at himself laugh, that really catches some previously unknown triggers. I babble his name, and press against his hand.

‘Do you like me doing that? I’ve never said any of this, or talked like this, to anyone.’ He presses down just once, hard and shocking. And I have to wonder if he read about doing this, somewhere, because Jesus it feels amazing. Like little mini orgasms are going off in all the places he isn’t touching. Or is. Or fuck, I don’t know.

And he just keeps on talking! I’ve busted a dam. I’ve cracked a hole in the dyke.

‘But then, I’ve never done
any
of this before, with anyone. I’ve never stroked anyone like this, or rubbed my stiff prick against their back, or fondled their breasts and wanted to be inside them again. God, I want to do that again, Maddie. I never thought it could feel like someone’s fucking you, while they’re underneath you – that was amazing. It was amazing. Oh Maddie, I think I’m going to come –hurry. Don’t make me wait any longer.’

It’s funny – I didn’t think I was the one in control any more, until he said that last bit. But when he does, everything all boils over and mingles together and goes crazy, inside me. I tell him harder, harder, and he presses just that one finger down on my insanely swollen clit.

And then such intense sensation pushes outward from that one point – I think I wet myself. I can’t even make a sound of pleasure. My mouth just opens and my legs lock around his hand and I jerk, and make a mess of him.

Before blissful bonelessness takes over. I think I sag all the way through the mattress to the floor below. I’m pretty sure I’m never going to stop sagging – or regain the ability to speak. So good – Jesus. So good that I’m not going to say anything about the still slippery hand he clamps over my hip, so that he can go at me.

He doesn’t try to fuck me, however. No – I guess he can’t wait for that. He just ruts against me – first over my back and the firm swell of my arse, and then … oh then. He fumbles and finds the cleft between, and suddenly increases the frantic, jerking pace.

I just lie there, and let him. Mainly because I can’t believe that the slick feel of his prick between the cheeks of my arse, rubbing and rutting, filthily, actually manages to thrill arousal through me. After that huge orgasm. Still.

‘Is this OK, is it OK?’ he asks, but it’s a minute after he’s started and his voice is so up and down that I can’t take it seriously. I’m right not to, too, because almost at the same time as those words, his body locks against mine. He grunts so gutturally, it sets my hair on end.

And then I feel the hot spurt of his come, all over my arse and my lower back. Which feels so delicious and dirty, I bite my lip and try not to wonder when he’ll be up for another round. I’m guessing it’s not going to be soon, because a second after he’s done it all over me, he apologises. He apologises, for making a mess. For fucking … whatever it was he fucked.

At which I definitely want to do it all over again. Immediately. Continually. For ever.

Seriously – when can we do it again, for ever?

Dawn’s just coming in through the curtains, when I next open my eyes. And find him already awake, staring at me through the rising light. I know he’s slept, because I felt him press heavy and sudden against my back, soon after cleaning me up. Still spooning, him satisfied with my assurances that I had no complaints.

Though I didn’t use the word complaint. It was much more like: my God, you’re a sexual wizard. I honestly don’t mind telling him that. He deserves it. He says sorry far too much, too.

Like now, when I catch him staring.

‘Why?’ I ask, and he tells me frankly that he knows it’s weird. That he’s weird.

So I reach out, and touch his face. Overnight really gives him some serious stubble.

‘It’s not weird, Gabe. I like it. I … you know. I like you.’

I can feel I’m blushing, but it’s too dark for him to see. God knows what would happen if I ever managed to say the words I mouthed at his back, last night. My face would explode, probably.

But he looks delighted with just
like
. I guess there haven’t been many of those, in his life – never mind the other one.

‘You’ve really never done any of that stuff before, have you.’

I don’t know why I ask. Though I suppose I’m not really asking. It’s a given. It’s obvious. We’ve been doing sexual things for what must be months, and he’s only just got around to being comfortable with talking dirty to me. To considering the idea of asking for sex.

Still, something inside me twangs, when he says, ‘Are you asking me if I was a virgin?’

Somehow, him saying the word smashes it right into me: last night, I popped someone’s cherry. I don’t even think my first boyfriend was a virgin, when he banged me in the back of his dad’s Ford Fiesta.

I’ve just fucked a thirty-year-old virgin. I’m like the less impressive sequel, to a Steve Carrell movie.

‘Did it seem like I was?’