Never Been Kissed (27 page)

He sat back on his heels, his eyes wide.

She was lying—she was already in love with him—and he knew it. If he didn’t he was an idiot, and no one could accuse him of that.

There was no point in being embarrassed by her feelings; it was a relentlessly bad instinct to love this man, but it was also equally impossible not to.

She shrugged. “Sorry.”

Suddenly the apartment was illuminated by a giant lightning strike and then it shook with booming, rolling thunder.

And in the silence that followed, the air around them changed. He changed. Heartbreak and fear were replaced by the razor-sharp edge of intent. Sexual intent. He was going to say something rude, ask her to do something ruder to try to cure her feelings, but it was useless, she was wet at the thought.

He sat back on his heels, his jeans stretched taut over his legs, and carefully she uncrossed hers and put her bare toes against his thigh. He burned through his denim. Her toes slid over the round hill of his muscle, toward his lean waist. His belt.

Her face burned, she was blushing so hard, but she touched her big toe to the cold metal of his belt buckle. An unmistakable signal.

I’m in,
she tried to convey.
Mistake or not, I want you.

“Undo it,” he said, his voice a low growl that could ask her to do anything and she’d comply. Leaning forward, she brought her mouth within a breath of his. The fact that he didn’t kiss her was excruciating, they simply breathed each other in and then out. He watched her; she watched her fumbling, shaking fingers slip the leather from the metal loop and push it free.

“Take me out.”

She dipped her fingers behind the brass button, her knuckles flush with the hot skin of his belly. He sucked in a breath and the thin line of hair there tickled her hand. The button was stubborn, her fingers were clumsy, but she managed to get it undone.

The loudest thing on the planet was that zipper. But then it was down and … 
Oh God.
She bit her lip. It had been a really long time since she’d been in this position and most of those experiences had ended in disappointment
or marginal horror. But she reached into the soft black cotton of his boxers and slipped her hand around … oh …

She moaned at the size of him. The heat. The awkward reality of pulling a large, fully erect penis free from underwear. But then he was out and it was soft and hard and gorgeous. She ran her fingers down its sides, finding veins and secret soft spots that made his body clench hard. The thick plum at the top leaked a tear and she touched it with her finger, running it around the spongy head.

Suddenly, he stood, his hips—his erection—at eye level. Mouth level. He pulled his underwear down under his sack and stroked his dick with his own hand, and it was so hot, so unbearably erotic that she squirmed in her seat.

“Look at you,” he breathed. “You want it so bad.”

I do, I really do.
But while she might like his raw words, she felt stupid saying them herself. Didn’t know how to make them sound right out of her mouth, so she just nodded.

“Suck me,” he said. Between her legs, she throbbed. The weight of her T-shirt against her nipples was unbearable. Her skin felt like it couldn’t hold in how much she wanted him.

He cupped the back of her head, pulling her toward him, and she braced her hand against his hip, her thumb right there in the divet where his muscles met, and that was so hot she stroked it.

“I said suck me,” he said and she nearly rolled her eyes.

“You should know, if you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. I like this. If I didn’t, I’d walk away.”

He blinked, his mouth slack, and she shook off the hand he was trying to use to intimidate her. When she curled her fingers around him, his breath came out on a hitch, like something he was trying to hide, and that wouldn’t do.

She couldn’t hide from him. Had never been able to, and she was tired of letting him hide from her.

More graceful than she thought she could be, she slid to the edge of the futon and spread her legs so he stood between her knees and then she licked the long, broad underside of his dick before pulling the tip into her mouth.

“Oh God.”

That hand he’d used to try and force her now curved so tenderly over her shoulder, the moment was transformed. This wasn’t something she was doing to him, or him to her. They were in this together. His thumb rested right at her heartbeat and she felt the rebound of her pulse under his skin.

Carefully, because he was big and she didn’t know exactly what she was doing, she took more of him in her mouth, a long slick slide, until her eyes watered and she felt him at the back of her throat.

“Easy, honey,” he breathed, pulling her away very slowly. Her hand curled around that soft-hard mystery and she slowly went from root up to tip and back again, sucking on the head, slowly jacking him off.

Everything about this, the intimacy of his taste and his smell, the way he bent his knees when she took as much of him as she could. The way his hand squeezed her shoulder—all of it fed her. Delighted her. Told her a hundred little stories about him.

He liked it when she slipped her other hand around his waist and over his ass, up his back and down again. He liked it when she sucked hard on the tip and moved her hand fast just below her lips. She touched his balls and he laughed.

When she looked up at his face while sucking him, he groaned, his cheeks bright and red. His eyes unfocused like he was just barely holding on. He touched her cheek, her lips where they wrapped around him, like he
couldn’t believe what he was seeing and wanted to be sure.

His dick, his fingers against her lips, it was too much. She arched toward him.

He popped out of her mouth and she rested her head against his hip. “I’m dying. Brody,” she whispered. Every bad date, every drunk guy who passed out, every time she’d said no for reasons she didn’t really understand but probably had their roots in this man. All of that desire she’d shelved came tumbling down on her and she was ready to crawl out of her skin. She rocked hard against the futon, making herself crazy, searching for a relief.

“Lie back.”

Eager, she did, her arms out by her sides. Her eyes on him.

He ripped off his shirt, toed off his boots, pulled down his pants, all in one big long graceful strip, so fast if she blinked she would have missed it.

There were men who paid lots of money in an effort to look like Brody. A man, with muscle and hair in all the right places. The scar tissue from the burns along his hip, the spiderweb of surgical scars across his knee—it didn’t diminish anything about him.

His hands caught the bottom hem of her shirt, lifting it up and over her head, making her hair shower down around her shoulders, over her breasts, and across her face. Not wanting to miss a second of his face, she quickly brushed it away. Her cutoffs, too big from the last time she wore them, slipped down her hips with one good yank from him.

His eyes took a walk all over her—her hair, her face, her breasts, the yellow blooms along her ribs—and as he looked, he was right out there in the open.

No more hiding.

So effected, so turned on, she arched under his gaze, her arms up over her head.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

He spread his palm wide just under her throat and slowly dragged it over her breasts, down her tummy, to the soft brown fur between her legs.

“You’re so pretty,” he said. His thumb found the damp top end of her slit and slid into the furrow, down over her clit to where she wept for him.

She couldn’t control the way her body jerked; she grabbed his wrist to keep herself centered. It seemed like they’d jumped ahead a few steps and she needed them to back up. There was no part of this she wanted to skip. The smallest tug on his hand brought him up and over her body. He ducked his head and kissed the swell of her breast; she shifted and he licked her hard nipple, sucked it into his mouth, and her nerve endings went berserk, she twitched, her hands reaching up into his hair, keeping him close.

He cupped her breast in his hand, holding it high, and she watched as his tongue licked her nipple, his lips covered it. Oh, she couldn’t breathe … when he sucked she cried out. And again when he used his teeth. Pleasure boiled inside of her and she lifted her knees up along the outside of his thighs and his erection pressed right into the center of her body. Her hands clawed at his back, wanting him closer. Needing him closer.

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

“I am.” His breath, hot and wet, blew across her breast and she shuddered.

“My mouth.”

He looked up at her, their eyes meeting, and suddenly the reality of what they were doing hit home. The intimacy of it was shocking. It wasn’t just their naked bodies. It was their naked souls. At least hers anyway.

He braced his elbows over her shoulders and slid his
thumb along her lips. She could taste herself on his skin, the musk of her desire. She opened her lips and he slid inside.

His groan was pulled from his guts and she couldn’t stand it anymore; she leaned up and kissed him. Forced his lips open with her tongue, wrapped her hands in his hair to keep him close.

It was every kiss she’d ever wanted from him, and he kissed her right back, with the same velocity. The same hunger and need, and he thrust against her, his dick sliding through her wetness to brush against her clit.

She gasped, the kiss forgotten as stars exploded in her body.

“Again,” she breathed and he complied, his head bent to her neck. She met his thrust with her own, pressing down against him as he pressed up.

“Ashley, honey.” He sucked the tender skin at the base of her throat into his mouth. He pressed kisses all along her chest until he got to her breasts. He pushed them together, licking and biting the peaks while she went ape-shit under him.

There was no control, she was just raw electrical impulse. She pushed against him until the sparks gained momentum, until it hurt and there was a current pushing her somewhere.

“Brody,” she groaned. “Brody … what … I need more.”

“More?”

“Please.”

He slipped away from her.

“
No!
” she cried, furious and … he licked her.
There.
He pushed her legs over his shoulders, kneeling on the floor between her legs. His fingers spread her open and his tongue … She fell back against the futon. His tongue was inside her. Fast and hard and then he sucked on her clit and it was his fingers inside her and it hurt … for a
second it hurt. Not because her hymen was intact, but because nothing as big as his fingers had ever been inside of her. There was a stretch and a pull.

“You’re so tight,” he said against her unbearably hot and wet skin. He twisted his fingers inside her, stretching her, and the ratio of pain to pleasure skewed off and she didn’t like that.

A new urgency burned through her, to have this done with. To make this choice and get on with her life.

“Come on,” she breathed and tugged on his elbow.

“You’re not ready, honey.”

“I am. Trust me, I’m ready.”

His finger slid in deep and then out again, dragging across nerve bundles she never would have guessed she had.

“Please, Brody, hurry.”

He stood up, his mouth wet, and when he wiped it with the back of his hand it was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

“I’ll be right back.” His eyes danced across her body and he seemed transfixed, so she gave him a push with her foot.

That made him smile, and he left but not before leaning over her to press a kiss to her belly.

He walked to the bathroom and she admired the bunch and pulse of his legs, the wide lovely sail of his back. Honestly, there was not a man more attractive than Brody. Through the bathroom’s open door she watched him take a silver packet from his kit bag. As he walked back into the room he tore open the packet with his teeth and without taking his eyes off her, slid the condom over his erection.

Her breath shuddered in her burning lungs.

He was back between her legs, and she knew better than to say anything about her virginity. There would be no way to measure the speed with which he would run
from her if he knew, so she reached up and touched him, the latex wrapped heat of him.

“Move back,” he said and as she scooted up the futon he crawled over her.

His fingers ran through the dampness between her legs, he slid one finger inside of her and then slowly another one.

“Come on,” she breathed, pulling his weight onto her, against her. His dick replaced his fingers, not inside of her but against her. Hard and high against her clit, and she whimpered, pulsing against him. She clutched him with her arms and legs, wanting more, wanting this to be over as much as she wanted it to last forever.

She felt him reach between them and then when he thrust again, it wasn’t against her, it was inside her, and she gasped with the pain.

He buried his face against her neck, his hands in fists by her ears.

The next thrust was a long, slow splitting of her and she bit her lip against the burn and sting. It would feel good again, she knew that. She wasn’t a total innocent, but this … this hurt.

And then suddenly she felt his hip bones against hers and he was lodged, high and hard, inside her. She felt pinned to the futon by his cock. She tried to shift but couldn’t. Not without pain.

“Ashley?”

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her.

Her attempt at a smile was lame, she could see how utterly unconvincing it was by the way he frowned at her.

She curled her arms up over his shoulders and tried to pull him down to kiss her, but he caught her hands and pressed them up above her head.

His strength was so exciting and she felt the sting of him inside of her lessen.

“Well,” she said, trying to sound okay, when inside she was suffering through an earthquake. “We took care of that.”

“Ashley,” he groaned, dropping his head. He shifted as if to pull out of her and she clutched him with all her strength.

“Don’t you dare, Brody. Don’t you dare leave because you’re freaked out. I’m freaked out. Me. And I need your help.”