Sheltered (20 page)

“Really? But what do you usually do when you have a girl over?”

“I don’t usually have girls over.”

This time she was pulled up so short she could have slipped between an ant’s legs.

“Well…where do you…
you know
…” She tried in vain to think of the right phrase. “Go with them?”

“
Go
with them? Like what? Like slipping into a bathroom to do my business with some chick?”

“No, no, I just—”

“First you think I’m cheating, now you think I’m a man-whore.”

The giggle felt wildly inappropriate, but it burst out of her anyway.

“
Man-whore.
Is that even a thing? I don’t think you’re that, I swear. But I’m not an idiot, Van. I mean, I know that you’ve had sex with other girls.”

“Not these hordes you seem to be imagining.” She felt him hesitate, before plunging on. “I told you. I find it hard to…open up to people.”

“And you need that, to have sex with a girl?”

“How come you know so much and so little at the same time? Yeah, most guys don’t give a shit. But I just… I can’t just fuck anybody. I need more than that. It’s too much for me to let go with a total stranger.”

Suddenly, all that restraint of his gained a new and interesting shade. It wasn’t just about her innocence. It was about his own stuff too.

“Can you let go with me?”

A long, long silence followed. One in which the now subtle rock of his hips became something firmer, and more obvious.

“Yes,” he said, finally, as that rocking increased its speed. “But I want you to be sure. You can’t grow back your virginity, you know.”

“If I wait any longer I think my virginity’s going to come back with reinforcements. Just make love to me, Van. I want to feel you.”

This time, he relented. She knew it, before he’d even taken any of the steps she expected, like turning her onto her back. Or maybe kissing her a little, to warm things up. He simply slid off the bed behind her, and she turned just in time to see him pulling his jersey over his head.

It was a sight to behold. Far better than the glimpses she’d gotten on the night they’d come back. He was hairier than she’d thought—all the way up to his throat and quite fair, really, considering the hair on his head.

But then she remembered it was dyed, and started thinking about a whole host of other things. Was that his natural color there? Almost tawny, she thought, but somehow couldn’t imagine him like that.

The black suited him. It suited his eyes, his eyelashes, the softness of his mouth. It made a good contrast, and that contrast didn’t stop with his face. It extended down over his body too. Everything so solid and strong there, but somehow softly curved at the same time.

Like his thighs, God his thighs. And when he put his back to her briefly to shuck off his underwear—as though modesty was somehow required, at this point—she couldn’t help ogling the perfect, round peach of his ass.

And he seemed to know it, when he turned back.

“You looking?” he asked, mouth tugging up at one corner.

She wanted to ask him how he possibly thought she could resist. He had a beautiful body—far better than hers. And all of it just came to a head in the middle, with that thick, glorious, amazing cock of his.

The one she couldn’t take her eyes off, even when he almost grinned to see her doing it.

“You want to get under the sheets?” he asked, which immediately turned the syrupy, slow sensuous feeling inside her into something else. Something kind of urgent and giddy, as though they’d both turned into big kids about to do a naughty thing.

Of course, the feeling only remained for the length of time it took him to climb into bed. And then his mouth searched out hers and his hand went without hesitation to her breast, and any sense of strange immaturity went away.

Instead there was just heat, and the heavy feel of him. The brush of his bare skin against hers, too much and then not enough. She pressed closer to him, wanting more, but couldn’t quite believe it when he didn’t pull away. Not even a little bit. Not even for a second, to let her catch her breath.

Though in truth she didn’t really want him to. Breathing seemed like a secondary concern, in the face of this. Something brushed between her legs, briefly—something hard and almost as slick as she felt—and a gasp shoved out of her, but he had it under control.

He slid his hand down between her legs and stroked over all the places she felt far too sensitive, until the gasp became a sob.

“Don’t,” she tried to say, but luckily the word came out as something else instead. It sounded a lot more like
yes
as his fingertip just ever so slightly circled the clit she couldn’t bear him to actually touch.

“Too much?” he asked, and she wanted to nod. She really did.

It just didn’t seem like an option right now. Most of her body was telling her something else altogether, in a little furtive whisper. Something like
ohhhh man
,
do you think we can actually have another orgasm so quickly after that first one
?
Is that even possible? I totally want to see if that’s possible.

And though she had no idea why her body suddenly sounded like a surfer dude from the nineties, she was willing to go with it. The pleasure felt too intense this time to
not
follow it wherever it was going, and besides…

She could tell what he’d started doing, at the same time.

He had a hand on himself as he fondled her. A hand between his legs, stroking and stroking while his mouth searched out the curve of her throat.

It sent her half-mad, to feel it. She simply had to reach down and uncover whatever he was doing, but once she’d done so—once she’d found his fist wrapped tight around his impossibly stiff cock—she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions.

The tip felt really, really slick. And so hot, burning hot. Had it been this hot before? She didn’t think so, but found it almost impossible to remember in the middle of this suddenly frantic and heated haze.

He didn’t just patiently allow her to touch him. He bucked into her hand. He pressed himself fully against her, all of that hair on his body sparking delicious new feelings in her taut nipples and on the insides of her thighs. And when she rubbed her thumb right over that little slit at the tip of his cock, he stopped any pretense at holding back.

“Christ. I’m gonna have to do this before I come all over you.”

She felt him shift a little, before reaching over to his bedside drawers. He did it subtly, of course, and maybe like he wasn’t really going for the condoms. But she knew that was what they were the moment he had the little foil packets in his hand.

She just didn’t know why he was studying them so intently. Or why the sudden pause in proceedings made her impatient enough to chew her own arm off.

“What are you—” she started, but he answered before she could finish.

“Looking for the expiration date.”

She hadn’t even known they had something like that. But at the very least, him searching for one backed up what he’d said earlier. He really
didn’t
sleep with a lot of girls. He had five-hundred-year-old condoms in his bedside cabinet.

“Okay, we’re good,” he said, though he didn’t sound as relieved as she would have liked. And when he looked at her, his gaze was both heated and tense, all at the same time.

It made her want to reassure him in some way, even as most of her said
no
,
no
. Just wait. Just watch. And as it turned out, the latter instinct was the correct one. The sight of him rolling that thing on, shuddering at the feel of his hands on himself…it was better than the look of him naked.

She had to simply watch, fascinated, by the deft way he dealt with it. At the way it looked, coating his thick, stiff shaft—too tight, she thought. Too tight and yet somehow arousing at the same time, because…well…now he was going to actually slide into her.

She could feel it coming, before he’d barely done a thing. He suggested it so sensuously, in the slow slide of his hands over her thighs and the little tug he gave to her, quite suddenly.

He didn’t exactly drag her down the bed, but it sort of felt like it. And every inch he pulled her made her hotter. Crazier. She almost wanted to call this feeling
impatience
,
but that sounded wrong.

It was more like desperation.

“Please,” she said, without a single lick of fear that it would make her seem slutty or silly. He had his hand between her legs again—really stroking over the entrance to her pussy. How could any of that make her feel like the wicked one?

He was the wicked one, and oh God she loved every second of it. Just the sensation of him mapping out that place, running around some rim she seemed to have there without ever going in…she wanted to shove herself down on it, hard. Wanted to so badly, but held back.

Some instinct told her it clearly—
the buildup, the anticipation
,
makes it sweeter.

“Here, baby. Tilt your hips up—that’s it. Like that.”

She had no idea if she was really doing the right thing. All she could concentrate on was the feel of him suddenly over her, and the look of him so caught in shadow. Eyes black as pitch, features near formless.

And then the steadying comfort of his hand on her back.

He helped her move, that hand sliding down the moment she started to shake. It anchored her, kept her calm, and more than that it felt
good
. Like maybe he needed to lift her just a little, urge her up to the waiting curve of his cock.

Though he didn’t sink in right away. He could have done—she could tell he could have done. Something smooth and a little slick brushed over her inner thigh, followed by that same sensation just ever so slightly dragging over her far too sensitive folds. But he waited, before taking the final step.

He kissed her, so soft and close she could hardly stand it. It stung behind her eyes again, to feel him be this tender. To have him stroke all over her body with his big, rough hands, and then finally with something else too.

She saw him reach down between their bodies and held her breath, but yet again he didn’t quite do what she expected. He just repeated that little hint of something she’d gotten a moment earlier—the feel of his cock, sliding against her—only this time he did it in a far lewder sort of fashion.

He directed the blunt head of his dick, so that instead of just glancing over her flesh it slid all the way through her slippery slit. It searched out her clit and stroked there, for a second—though it was enough to make her arch her back and say his name.

The pressure was just right. So perfect. Not like before, with his fingers, when it had seemed like far too much. Now the pleasure felt diffused, everything done through a barrier of slickness. Everything so warm and wet and good and God, God.

She had to clutch at his shoulder, though he hardly seemed to mind. He clutched at her in return, one hand on her hip and one hand on his cock, the expression on his face like nothing she’d ever seen before. His mouth had fallen open somewhere in the middle of all of this, and he couldn’t seem to close it. His eyes looked big, way too big—so much so that she felt sure they were about to swallow her whole.

But best of all, he was shaking. She could feel him actually shaking in her arms, as he slid the blunt head of his cock down, down, down.

“You ready?” he asked, but she couldn’t give him an answer. He was working that thick length back and forth, back and forth over the entrance to her pussy, and it just stopped all possible communication. Her lower body felt like one long, intense pulse of pleasure, and that didn’t change when he finally pressed inward.

Of course she expected it to hurt. Everyone said it hurt, and their horror stories ranged from
like being stabbed
to
so painful it kills you
. She was prepared for the worst, and it wasn’t until he’d managed to slide almost halfway in that she realized something pretty fundamental.

It should have been hurting
already
. If it was going to stab her, the stabbing should have happened about ten seconds ago. And yet all she could feel was his thick length spreading her open. All she could hear were the shuddering sounds he’d started making, that sent an answering bloom of pleasure through her the second they were out of his mouth.

Of course once said pleasure had struck, something else happened. An instinctual, automatic thing that she was barely aware of, until she had the heavy weight of him inside her.

She clenched down hard. Really hard. And the resultant jolt of sensation made them both gasp. Or at least, it made her gasp, and it made Van pole his arms on either side of her head and bunch the sheets into fists, the sound out of his mouth like something a maniac would do.

Then once he’d gathered himself—eyes drifting closed, hips almost rocking but not quite—he gave her a sort of explanation.

“Try not to do that.” He paused, breathless. “It feels too fucking amazing when you do that.”

“It’s okay if you want to come,” she said, partly because she suspected he really badly needed to. But also because there was something frightening about the solid feel of him inside her, and that jolt she’d experienced when she’d clenched around him.