Sheltered (15 page)

That hand sped up, on the prominent ridge beneath his jeans. His head went back, as though whatever he was feeling verged on just a little too much. And even better—for just the barest second he let his guard down.

Long enough for her to lean forward and get her hand over all the places he wasn’t touching.

She just couldn’t help herself. The whole thing was too exciting, too enticing, and if he was going to do something like leave an opening, what more could he really expect? She’d been denied too long, and now simply had to feel the thing she’d only imagined, prior.

Of course his attention snapped back the moment she did.

“Evie,” he said, only this time it wasn’t a warning. Her name sounded shaky, as heated as his gaze, and though he seemed to want to stop her, he didn’t. He just watched as she uncovered the shape of him beneath his clothes. Held perfectly still, as though she might move away if startled.

Though she knew nothing on earth could have pushed her away at that point. He felt too hot beneath the material, and every stroke of her hand brought new and interesting discoveries. The shape of him—curving upward, then ending in a thick ridge she could make out clearly. And the feel too…God. So much harder than she’d imagined. So much thicker and full of life somehow, as though before this she’d thought of men’s parts as something cool and inanimate.

He was so very far from that. For a start, one light rub over the obviously swollen head of his cock made him moan. Actually
moan
, really loudly and obviously. It filled up her ridiculous pink bedroom, as rough as fuck and twice as arousing, until she couldn’t resist doing it again.

He wasn’t even trying to stop her. The hand he’d had on himself now rested awkwardly some place high up on his thigh, and though he occasionally murmured a word or two, they weren’t refusals.

Quite the contrary. They sounded like things people said when they wanted someone to continue.
Oh there
, he told her.
So good
, he told her. And by God each one felt like victory in her head. She’d pushed him over, made him get to this place, and now he was about a second away from letting her maybe…do other things. Things she could ask for, if she only held on to her courage for a little longer.

“Can I…” she tried, but that didn’t sound right.
Can I
were the words people used at the age of eight when they desperately needed the bathroom. They weren’t the things adults said, in the middle of sex.

But then, what
were
the things adults said in the middle of sex? I want to? I need to? I’d like to?

“Show me,” she settled on, finally.
Show me
was safe,
show me
let him take the lead if he wanted to. But more importantly,
show me
eliminated all the possible mistakes she could make, like too hard or too soft or too slow.

Still, she didn’t
quite
expect him to go with it, until the second he actually did.

“Like this,” he said, and just those two words alone were enough to tug on her clit. To rub over the tips of her breasts and set her to shivering. But then his hand, oh his hand right over hers. And the
pressure
he put on himself, through her.

God, she didn’t think she’d ever get over that. Her own strokes immediately seemed timid and fragile. His were so fierce she feared she’d hurt him, even though he was the one making it so. He practically shoved at the back of her hand, forcing her palm to grind over the swollen and now extremely obvious head of his cock. And the second he hit it just right, his entire body made the most incredible arch.

She could feel him shuddering, through that one point of connection. Could almost make out the vibrations his shockingly loud moans made, as they worked their way through his body—though this time he didn’t stop at moans.

He went with words too. Loud, greedy, filthy words.

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Work my cock.”

She tried to remember if he’d ever said anything like that before, and failed. Most of her was failing. He’d clasped her hand almost completely around that now excruciatingly hard shape, and she knew enough to understand what that meant.

She wasn’t just rubbing him. She was jerking him off. Actually jerking him off, as he gasped and groaned with pleasure and pretty much lost all control of himself. And she knew he’d done the latter too, because after a second of this frantic pressure on the iron bar of his cock, he started…doing other things.

Like maybe undoing his belt, and unbuttoning his jeans.

She had to pull away then. Not because it scared her—because dear Lord it didn’t—but because the sight was so arresting. She needed a view, she needed to watch, and not only because of the thought of what was to come.

Because of the way it looked, when he pulled the leather through the loop. She’d definitely never thought of something like that as a sexual thing before, but oh the sight of Van doing it. He did it quickly, so quickly—as though he couldn’t wait another second. But despite his brisk fingers and the efficient way he was going about it, there was something fumbly about it too.

Something too desperate, that turned her on more than she’d like to say.

He couldn’t seem to breathe in a normal way anymore. His chest went up and down, visibly, and when she went to maybe just touch something innocent that he’d inadvertently exposed—like that strip of hair just above his waistband—he jerked away as though stung.

Then came right back for more.

“Go on,” he said. “Go on.”

In almost the exact same way she’d imagined doing it. Her instincts weren’t wrong, apparently, and the thought pushed her the rest of the way. She ran a finger over his belly and watched the muscles there jump, then as he fumbled and shoved his jeans down over his thighs she maybe didn’t stop that finger’s progress. Yeah, maybe she just let it slide on down until it came to the thing he’d just completely exposed, between his legs.

Before coming to an abrupt and frankly stunned halt, somewhere just above her intended target.

It didn’t look the way she’d expected. Not at all. For a start, he was bigger than anything she’d actually pictured. Way, way bigger. And now that she could see all of him, she realized with some embarrassment what she’d been using as a template.

Some pastel-colored thing from a textbook, that had almost nothing to do with the reality. Reality was thick and heavy-looking, and so, so lewd. The head gleamed red and wet in the low light, as slick somehow as her pussy now seemed, and when he wrapped his hand around the base she almost expected it not to go, somehow.

At the very least, his cock would not fit into the circle of her fingers. She knew it wouldn’t, without checking—though Lord she wanted to give it a try. Most of her was stuck, stymied, just looking at this great big thing that he somehow carried between his legs at all times, but another part of her felt differently.

And this other part of her got bigger when he groaned her name.

“Evie,” he said, almost like a plea. And then he stroked just once over himself, the clasp of his hand unbearably tight on what had to be sensitive flesh, more slickness welling in the little slit at the tip when he did so.

It’s a lesson
, her mind whispered.
He’s giving you a tutorial on what he wants you to do.

Which at least made more sense than the things her mind usually came up with. But of course, the problem was—she couldn’t possibly do what he was doing. He went at it too fiercely, he applied too much pressure. She couldn’t even push the lever on a fire door successfully, never mind this.

Though as she watched him stroke—slow enough to keep him steady, hard enough to make him shudder—another option occurred. She could see a second bead of liquid, almost ready to run down his increasingly slippery shaft. And it looked so tempting just poised there, like another little hint he hadn’t intended to give.

One she could take, without too much fuss. She just leaned forward the moment he let his eyes slide closed, and touched the tip of her tongue to that little opening. Tasted the slick fluid there, in one smooth little stroke.

Then felt him jerk as though stabbed in the back with an axe.

His hand went almost automatically to the side of her head, but not to do either of the things she expected. He didn’t try to pull her away, or force her closer. He just clutched her there, fingers tangled deep in her hair, those shudders running through him so hard she was only surprised they didn’t knock her unconscious.

Though really, the shudders weren’t what she found herself concentrating on. The taste was the thing—salt-sweet and far slicker than she’d imagined—and the feel of his silky skin beneath the press of her tongue. It made her want to go for more, but once she’d actually done it she realized something pretty obvious.

She hadn’t the first clue about how to do this thing. He’d had tricks, and ways of going about it, and the magical ability to transport her into transcendental ecstasy. She had some vague idea about maybe sucking him a bit.

The two didn’t match up. He was going to laugh at her efforts, even though he didn’t seem to be laughing now. He didn’t even crack a smile when she looked up at him—he just stared down at her with that tortured, overheated gaze. Mouth a mean line. Shoulders hunched, body still shaking.

And then he told her all the things she most needed to hear.

“Just suck me,” he said. “God, just put your mouth on me.”

It didn’t feel like an order. It felt like permission. Her entire body turned to liquid at the sound of his voice and those words, and after that it seemed easy to simply lean forward and take him in her mouth. Clearly, he didn’t care if she did it wrong or not. He just wanted to feel her—and by God she wanted to feel him too.

It still proved more difficult than she’d imagined, however. He was even bigger in her mouth than he’d seemed when she’d just looked. And although he didn’t thrust or grasp her hair or do any of the things she’d heard men did, once they got you in this prone position, she found it hard to take more of him.

There was just so much to deal with. The heat and the thickness of his shaft and the thought of his expectations. Did other girls take more, and suck harder? He felt so tender in her mouth she could hardly bear to give him any pressure—though it was obvious he liked that very thing.

She could see how hard his hand was squeezing around the base of his shaft. And as she eased back and forth over the swollen head of his cock, he managed to get a word or two out.

“Firmer,” he said, so abruptly it sounded as though he’d cut either end of the word off. And then even more shocking, after a moment, “Use your teeth.”

Men didn’t really like that, did they? She tried to flick through her own murky memory of tame playground talk, but could only come up with images of witches with teeth like sabers, who bit men in two the second they let themselves do such a dirty thing.

Somehow, she suspected that wasn’t what Van had in mind. Though what he did have in mind, she couldn’t say. She tried just drawing the very glancing edge of her teeth along his shaft, getting more gentle as she got to that sensitive head.

Because by God, it was sensitive. Even in her limited experience, she could tell that much. He practically
trembled
the moment she sucked over it a little harder. And when she finally worked up the courage to give him just a little more bite, he actually bucked into her mouth.

It wasn’t terrifying, however, as she’d expected. It was exciting, arousing. Her sex pulsed once, hotly, and the need to make him do it again swelled up inside her. A series of words went through her mind, each more filthy than the last. Words like
yes
and
more
and
oh please
,
please fuck my face.

She wasn’t even sure what they meant, entirely, but they felt good to hear. And even better when similar things came out of his mouth.

“Yeah, just like that,” he told her, and the feeling caught hold of her again. She suspected it was triumph, but it felt a lot like arousal too. Her clit sparked again, to hear him. Her legs trembled and tried to stop holding her up.

And then his hand tightened in her hair and his hips jerked upward and oh, oh. He was going to come. She knew it—she could feel it. His cock swelled in her mouth, his hand tightened on the shaft.

And finally he said it, in a voice too hoarse to bear.

“Oh Jesus, I’m gonna come. Evie. Evie. Stop—I’m gonna come in your mouth.”

She could feel him trying to pull away almost desperately, but he was crazy if he thought she was going to let that happen. Just the thought of him doing it like that, of him shooting over her tongue—she couldn’t possibly let him go.

Not now. Not now that he was just about to go.

“Ohhhhh fuck, fuck. Honey, I can’t stop. I can’t, oh
God
that’s so good.”

And then the taste of him flooded her mouth, so thick and hot and somehow sudden. All of it far more than she’d been prepared for, but still so intensely arousing, just the same.

He was actually coming in her mouth. She could feel him swelling and jerking and doing it, filling her up with an excess of that salt-sweet taste. Great, hoarse moans racking him as he climaxed, that hand he still had on himself squeezing and squeezing.