Nell’s To-Do List
• Normal College Thing #5: Lose my virginity.
I wake up hot. And sweaty. And sticky. Exhausted, I start kicking at my covers, but the muscles in my legs are sore and heavy.
Hold on.
Hot, sweaty, sticky, and sore are definitely not part of my normal morning routine. I don’t do anything that can make me sore on a normal basis. (Work out? Please.) And I sleep with the air-conditioning set low because I hate waking up hot and sweaty. I continue trying to wiggle out from under the covers, pondering these four oddities, and I become aware of a fifth.
I can’t kick the covers off properly because there’s a heavy weight over my legs—and over my waist, too, now that I think about it. I try to lean up onto my elbow, but when I move, the weight around my waist squeezes so tight that I’m abruptly awake. Very awake. And there’s a bare chest inches away from my nose.
“Stop moving,” a deep voice growls above my head.
I do stop. I stop so fast that my sore muscles spasm momentarily when I freeze up.
Torres. In my bed.
“And she freaks out in three . . . two . . .”
I push the arm off my waist and sit up straight. That’s about the time I process my nakedness, when I feel the cool air of the bedroom fan over my sweaty skin. It feels good, but I’m more concerned with just how very bright the morning light has made my room. Scrambling, I pluck at the sheet and pull it up to cover my breasts.
Torres groans behind me. (Torres? Mateo? God, why are names so stupid?)
I feel the barest touch low on my spine, just above the curve of my bottom that I know is entirely visible to him. He begins dragging his fingernail up the length of my spine, and I straighten, resisting the urge to squirm under that small exploration. But I can’t control the goose bumps that pebble over my skin or the breath that catches in my throat when the bed shifts and I feel his mouth begin the same trek up my back.
I clutch at the covers, needing something to ground me, and instead I end up gripping his calf. He chuckles, and the puff of his breath in the middle of my back tickles, and I break my resolve to stay still.
“Did you know you squirm when you’re about to come?”
I don’t know how to answer that. My brain is still too foggy from sleep. Do I stay silent? Tell him that yes, I noticed it last night, or no, I’ve never done “that” before him, so I don’t know if it counts? Or do I just tell him to shut up because he’s embarrassing me?
I don’t like being embarrassed.
I tell myself I shouldn’t be. What we did last night, it was . . . brilliant. Better than I ever could have imagined. And he’s made no move to rush out of my bed, so that has to be a good sign. But I can’t get over the fact that I’m sticky in places I shouldn’t be sticky, and the sheets against my skin are damp with sweat, and dear God, was that his tongue on my back? Doesn’t he know I’m sweaty and gross?
Just when I’m about to bolt for the bathroom, his mouth reaches the nape of my neck, and I feel his tongue and then teeth graze the side of my neck.
“Should I assume your silence is a yes? That you know your arms and legs flail when you’re right on the edge, as if you’re about to fall over an actual cliff?”
I shrug. That’s what I’m reduced to. Master of intellect right here.
His mouth trails along my shoulder, and then I feel the graze of his stubble as he lays his cheek against my back.
“Come on, girl genius. Answer me. It’s important.”
Then, finally, I find my voice. Scoffing, I say, “How could that possibly be important?”
“Because I want to fuck you in the shower, but I’m worried you won’t be able to stay standing when you come.”
I make a noise that not even I can identify, and drop my head into my hands. I hear him chuckle behind me as he flops back on the bed.
“You are such an ass,” I say into my hands.
Then, before I know what’s happening, I’m being slid and tugged and rolled, and my naked body is draped on top of his. My legs fall to each side of his hips, and large hands squeeze my backside. “What did you say about your ass?”
Annoyance is finally beginning to dilute my embarrassment, and I try to push up from him. His arms won’t budge. Instead I end up with my forearms pressed against his pectoral muscles, and his face just below mine. “I said you’re an ass.”
“Hmm . . . no. I like the way I heard it better.”
I squirm, trying to slide off him, and instead he rolls, trapping me beneath him, and insinuating his hips more firmly between my thighs.
“This is . . . a lot for me,” I say. “I would appreciate it if you could put the joking on pause for a little bit.”
His eyes are dark as his gaze glides over my face. There’s the barest shadow of stubble along his jaw and neck that I’m not used to seeing, and just the sight of it makes something flutter in my belly. One corner of his mouth tips up, and I know he felt the subtle shift in my hips as I reacted to the sight of him hovering over me. He leans in close, brushing his lips back and forth over mine in a not quite kiss.
“I don’t know why you think I’m joking, sweetheart. I love your ass. Have ever since you wore that short little schoolgirl skirt and nearly gave me a heart attack when you walked away from me. And as for fucking you in the shower . . . I was definitely not joking about that.”
A blush blazes over my cheeks, and he smiles. “I get that this is new for you, Nell. I do. But I’m not going to lie or hold back telling you how much I want you. I can’t.”
I swallow. “I’m just not used to talking about this kind of thing.”
“I believe you scientific types would say the only way to really get comfortable with something is through exposure. Practice.” He lowers his body against mine, props himself up on his elbows, and cups my cheeks. “And for the good of mankind and these gorgeous red cheeks, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make you comfortable.”
His gaze is so piercing, so serious. I am constantly amazed and undone by the different facets of his personality. He can flip-flop between joker and romantic so easily. He’s so comfortable as both. Then, as if proving my thoughts, he adds, “And I’m willing to have shower sex as many times as it takes until you learn to stay standing.”
I shove playfully at his shoulder, and as he tips over, he once again brings me with him. We roll so that I’m on top, and I can feel the hard length of his erection nestled in the heat between my legs. We’re inches away from tumbling off the bed, and one of my legs hangs over the side, my toes brushing the carpet.
He’s still got one hand on my cheek, and he uses it to start drawing me down toward his mouth, and I can’t explain why it makes me panic. It just does. Last night was good. Great. And it was exactly what I wanted. But I haven’t had time to think about what’s next. I have to think about what’s next . . . don’t I?
“I need to shower and get ready for class. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late.”
He keeps pulling me closer, until my mouth is just over his, not quite touching, but so close I can feel his every breath against my kiss-chapped lips. The promise of that nearness distracts me, and I feel my body melt into his, my soft stomach pressing against his harder one.
“Skip it,” he breathes.
“I—I can’t. I’ve never skipped a class. Not ever.” But it’s tempting. So very tempting.
“Is there a test today?” His lips swerve left, touching my cheek.
“No.”
“Do you have to turn in an assignment?” His tongue traces the sensitive spot at the corner of my jaw.
“No, but—”
“Skip it,” he murmurs against my ear. The heat of his breath makes me shiver and press closer. “Skip it and stay here with me.”
“Mateo—”
He hums. “I like my name in your mouth. Come on, girl genius. Think of your list. You’ve been doing a lot of things you’ve never done before. Give me one more. Let me thank you for last night.”
His other hand has found its way to my hip, and he uses it to rock me against him. And just like that . . . I find myself giving in. No, not just giving in. Throwing myself at him. Because even though I’m tender, it feels unbelievably good as he glides through the wetness between my legs. And he’s in my bed. And the morning light is playing over his bronze skin, and his eyes are dark and sleepy. And that’s another piece of Mateo Torres I want to lay claim to. I want to own this memory of him playful and pleading in my bed.
“Please,” he breathes, his voice strained and gravelly. “You want to make me beg, is that it? Is that on your list? Because I just might do it. For you.”
“No more after this.”
His grip on my hip tightens, and the hand on my cheek slides into my hair. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t skip any more classes after this. I won’t.”
He exhales, and the tight hold he has on me loosens. He thought I meant sex, that I meant no more of that. And his reaction, the way his whole body stiffened, takes away the last of my unease. I’m not the only one on edge here. I’d thought after the way I pulled him in here last night, the way I initiated things, that he had all the power. But I’ve got some, too.
“Shower?” I ask, and I can’t help but think of the night that I’d turned on all the lights in the house. His smile sweeps away the loneliness in a way that never could.
I CHECK OFF another first in the shower when Mateo kneels in front of me and teases me with his mouth and his fingers. I’m sore, and when I wince he places an apologetic kiss just below my belly button. He only uses his mouth from then on, and it takes me a long time to come, long enough that I try to stop him on more than one occasion because I feel bad for his knees, but he only laces his fingers through mine and pushes my hand back against the tile wall. When my orgasm does come, it’s slower than last night’s. Less detonation and more crashing wave. It starts at his mouth, and crests in my belly before, flowing out through all the rest of me. My legs don’t flail this time, but they do go numb, and if my back weren’t against the tile, I’m certain I wouldn’t have been able to keep my balance.
I want to return the favor, but I’m so deliciously exhausted from his long exploration of me with his mouth that my hands are shaky.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He takes my hand and wraps it around his erection. He has me squeeze harder than I expected, but under the fall of the shower, he slips through my fist easily. I try to kneel, but Mateo grabs my hips and keeps me upright.
“I’m already close,” he says. “A few times I thought I might come just with my mouth on you.”
He gets harder in my hand; bigger, too. And I’m embarrassed that for all I know about biology, I’m still surprised by his body, by how it works. Then he stiffens. He presses a hand into the wall by my head and leans his face into the crook of my neck as he groans. He jerks and pulses, and comes against my stomach.
And even though I’d been exhausted moments before, now I’m alert . . . and curious.
This is what I wanted to know. When I’d added losing my virginity to my bucket list, it had been no more than a mechanical act. It had been about the body, and that side of things is interesting enough. I do want to touch and explore and discover more, but it’s everything else I’d been naive about. Sex is about more than bodies.
And I don’t mean love, though I’m sure that does change the equation, too. I mean . . . he was on the edge just from giving me pleasure. He hadn’t even touched himself. I know because I remember vividly having his hands on my hips and our fingers tangled together and his grip on my thighs.
That’s the side of sex that fascinates me, what made me curious enough to watch that couple in the library. Pleasure isn’t just about touching the right places or making the right movements. There’s another element to it. And I don’t know what it’s called or how it works, but I want to.
I want to know everything.