CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Love is the whole and more than all.”
~E.E. Cummings
PAST
We were in my grandma’s trailer, on the sofa getting hot and heavy again, and every farther bit we went only led to more. It was a one-way street, the progression of it. Once the top was off, it came off every time, once the bra was off, it came off whenever we were alone.
I was straddling Dante and rocking against him as he felt me up, kneading at my flesh, and soon that was not enough either.
I pulled my mouth away.
He let me, but I could tell that he really, really didn’t want to.
I smiled at him and took my shirt off.
His breaths grew into jagged pants, and I loved the way his hungry, adoring eyes drank in the sight of me.
To reward him I took off my bra.
“Jesus,” he muttered before bending down and taking one sensitive tip into his mouth.
This I could hardly take. I needed something, more, anything, but couldn’t articulate any of it because I wasn’t quite sure what it was.
So I just kept rocking on top of him while he licked and sucked at my sensitive breasts, his hands cupping them, kneading them, feeling at every inch of flesh I’d bared until he had it measured and memorized, all the while making noises like he was losing his mind.
Eventually he laid me on my back and brought his lips back to mine.
“Take your shirt off,” I told him. I needed to feel his skin against mine, his chest against my breasts while they were still wet from his mouth.
He straightened and did it, then paused for a moment, his hands going to the button of his pants.
I’d known he was growing by the day, getting less lean and more bulky, but it wasn’t until then that I saw just how muscular he was now. Looking at him then I saw not a trace of the boy I loved. Instead I saw the man he was becoming. A man I knew even then that I’d spend my life being infatuated with.
I watched unblinking, legs sprawled apart, wearing nothing but my shorts.
He squared his jaw and took his hand away then crawled back between my thighs still wearing his jeans.
I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
This was even better than before with him on top rubbing hard between my legs, our chests smashed together, his mouth hot and hungry on mine.
His hands explored me again, reaching every place they could with our mouths melded together.
He shifted off me and slid his fingers slowly, tentatively up my inner thigh.
I squirmed, hands in his hair, kissing him for all I was worth.
When I didn’t stop him, he reached higher, grazing his fingertips up into the legs of my shorts.
I stiffened a bit but still didn’t stop him.
My shorts were tight, and his big hand going into the leg hole made them tighter, but somehow he managed to get it in there and then he was grazing my sex lightly with his knuckles.
I was intimidated, but it felt good, so I rubbed myself tentatively against the top of his hand.
He moaned into my mouth and turned his wrist until he held me in his palm.
I rubbed and rubbed against him until his hand was slick from the contact.
“Jesus,” he muttered at me. “You’re wet.”
The way he said it, like it was so significant, was foreign to me, but his tone just about did me in.
He started pushing one of his thick, blunt fingers into me and I stiffened like a board, my nails digging into his scalp.
“Mmm, God, oh God,” he breathed at me, pushing the finger in deeper and deeper, until it started to hurt.
I whimpered when he just kept pushing. He stopped at my noise but didn’t pull it out.
He didn’t budge either, just stayed where he was, panting on top of me.
“Does it hurt?” he finally got out.
“A little. What are you doing?”
He moaned and started moving his finger, pulling it out slightly then moving it back in again, though not as deep this time. “Just tell me if you’re not ready, okay? I just want to feel you with my finger. I just want to push in a little deeper, okay?”
I was not ready, but I found myself saying, ”Okay.”
He pushed it deeper until he’d reached that spot, and he was hitting against a small barrier and the pain thrummed inside of me again. He moved his finger lightly from side to side, feeling at it, exploring me without delving any deeper.
I was sure we’d gone farther than I was ready for, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.
The desperate noises he was making as he felt me for the first time were intoxicating.
I’d have given myself to him right then just to keep him in that state.
For love. For passion. For calculation. Take your pick. Each one applied.
He started thrusting in and out, in and out, stopping just shy of the barrier, but it wasn’t the best angle with how his hand was placed and after a few frustrating minutes, he pulled it out with a curse.
He panted on top of me, fists on each side of my face keeping him aloft.
Watching his pained face, I reached down and felt him through his jeans.
I’d never seen it before, but the shape of him even through his clothes fascinated me. He was so hard and there was so much of him straining to get out. I rubbed at him earnestly, learning his shape, squeezing and pulling at him through the stiff material.
Abruptly, cursing, he sprang off me and was gone, down the hall and in the bathroom with the door closed.
I stood up and followed him, not bothering to put my shirt or bra back on.
I listened at the door for one beat, two, and realizing he wasn’t going to the bathroom, I slowly opened the door.
He was at the sink, one hand braced on the wall.
He had his jeans unzipped and pulled down far enough to bare his thick, naked sex, and he had it in his hand and was frantically stroking it, yanking it hard enough that it looked like he was hurting himself.
His eyes snapped open, and he stared at me like a deer caught in headlights. Then his eyes shifted down to my breasts, and he started jerking faster.
I bit my lip, stepped inside, and shut the door behind me.
He pinned me against it and started kissing me, grabbing my hand and pushing his cock into my palm.
There was lotion by the sink, and he pulled back briefly to squirt some into my hand before he brought it back to his straining sex and started jerking himself off with both of our hands.
I tried to keep up, but I was clumsy with inexperience.
Still, it didn’t take much before he was finishing, just a few hard, long, fast motions before warm wetness was shooting out of his tip and against my naked naval.
I loved it, loved the look of madness in his eyes. Reluctantly I let go of his twitching member to put my arms around his neck and rub against him.
With a groan, he rubbed back, his hardness still spurting liquid onto my belly as he palmed my breasts and took my mouth.
Eventually he pulled back to look at me. “Did I freak you out too much?” he asked, studying my face intently.
I pulled back slightly and looked pointedly down. My hand went to touch him. He wasn’t as hard now, but he wasn’t soft either and I started playing with him.
He moaned and cursed, then started praising, growing harder by the second in my curious hand.
“No,” I finally answered. “Actually I think I’m becoming obsessed.” I squeezed his tip experimentally. “With this.”
“Let’s go to your room,” he murmured thickly, hands still at my breasts, kneading. I swear he’d have played with them every hour of the day if it were possible. He was at least as obsessed with those as I was with his newly discovered sex.
I was intimidated but I didn’t protest. I needed something more. More touching. More of his naked skin on my naked skin. Something. Anything. I couldn’t have walked away then if I tried.
When we got into my room, he moved to the foot of my bed. His jeans were still undone, but he’d tucked himself away, and as I watched, he zipped and buttoned them closed. After seeing him bare, I wondered how he even fit into his pants.
“Take off your shorts,” he told me softly, eyes on my large, trembling breasts. “And come here.”
I tried to do both at the same time, fumbling at the button of my cutoffs and moving to stand between his sprawling legs.
With a moan he started sucking at one of my nipples, his hands going to help me.
“I’m not ready to go all the way,” I told him breathlessly. I didn’t want him to think I was a tease.
Well, at least not a tease that wasn’t being honest with him.
“I know, angel,” he said with his lips still on me. “I just want to touch you, okay? I want to take care of you like you took care of me.”
I moaned and wiggled out of my shorts, but I left my panties on because I couldn’t imagine getting naked in front of him just like that.
He left them on, his fingers playing with my sex first over the material, and then he was pulling it aside and pushing into me.
I gasped. It was such a shocking sensation that I couldn’t imagine ever getting used to it.
He didn’t seem to notice my reluctance, his whole being concentrated on feeling me with his fingers.
“Jesus, you’re so wet,” he groaned into my chest.
My knees were going weak as what he was doing to me started an ache inside of me that I didn’t know how to relieve.
“I want to lie down,” I told him.
He moaned and I crawled onto the bed. When I was on my back, he started pulling down my panties.
I stopped him, I don’t even know why, instinctually, I suppose, but he just paused, bent, and started sucking on my nipple, then began to pull them down again.
When he had me completely naked, he sat up at my hip and started playing with me again, his eyes intent on what he was doing.
I squirmed. I needed something, I wasn’t sure what, but he wasn’t doing it. He was jerking his finger in and out of me, his breath ragged, his eyes looking like he was about to lose it again.
“It’s too much,” I told him. “The pressure’s too much.”
His hand froze. “What should I do?” he asked, looking as lost as I was.
“It just . . . hurts. Your finger’s too big.”
He looked horrified. “My finger’s too big?”
I thought about this. “That’s never going to fit inside of me.”
Something happened to his face, it fell and lifted as a shudder wracked through him. “Jesus.” He pulled his finger out of me with a curse. “Fuck. I need to go to the bathroom again.”
I sat up and stayed him with my hand. “Don’t. Stay here. I want to see.”
“I don’t want to freak you out.”
“Do you do that every time after we . . . make out and stuff?”
His mouth twisted into a sheepish smile, and he couldn’t look me in the eye. “Every time. At least once. Hell, at least twice.”
My eyes widened. “How long’s that been going on?”
“You don’t even want to know.”
I kind of did, but I dropped it as his hands went to the button of his pants.
“What should I do?” I asked him as he rose and shed his jeans.
He tilted his head down to give me an amused look. “Honestly? You could do anything and it’d work for me. Just sit there and watch me if you want.”
I shook my head. He wasn’t getting it. “I want to do it. I want to get you off myself.”
His eyes closed and his head fell back. “Jesus. You’re going to kill me today, aren’t you?”
I grinned. It was like nothing else, the power I felt at how desperately he wanted me.
I lay back down on my back and feeling daring I spread my legs apart. “Come lay on top of me,” I told him breathlessly. “We can feel each other while I . . .“
“Jack me off,” he said gruffly, climbing between my legs. “Say it.”
“Jack you off.” He went a little wild kissing me for that.
He had to get up briefly to grab lotion, and we got a little carried away.
It started with my hand, but as our bodies rubbed together his tip was brushing against my sex, then pushing at it. I moved him with my hand so he could rub along me without going in.
I would have let him go all the way, in fact a part of me desperately wanted it. Just wanted to say screw it and have each other completely.
But I didn’t. My grandmother had ingrained in me too deeply the fact that as soon as you gave yourself to a man he wouldn’t want you anymore.
And more than any other thing I needed in my life to survive, I needed Dante to want me. To crave me. To love and adore me.
I was obsessed with keeping him obsessed.
As we rubbed against each other, I found just the spot where the ache came from, and I took the softest part of his blunt tip and started rubbing it there in clumsy movements, then in little circles as I got the lay of it.
Dante didn’t last five seconds like that, his tip mashed up against my mound.
He came again with a rough curse and I loved it. Loved making him lose his control and his mind.
He was panting over me, his eyes on where we were touching. He braced himself with one fist on the mattress, the other going down to my hand on him. He was still coming as he fisted his cock and shifted it to my entrance. With a groan, he butted up against it.
I held my breath. If he’s going to do it, I decided, I’m not going to stop him.
He groaned and pushed in just the barest amount, the very tip of him invading me.
But he stopped himself, and with a curse, rolled off me.
I stayed where I was, flat on my back. The ache inside of me had become so powerful that I couldn’t stop shifting my hips.
“Try your fingers on me again,” I told him.
He sat up and started petting me with his hand, different now, focusing on the area around my entrance instead of just invading.
I showed him the spot I’d discovered. “There,” I told him, pressing his finger to it.
He bit his lip and applied himself to the task with utmost concentration. “Softer,” I panted at him. He changed his touch, lightened it.
“Mmm, that,” I sighed, closing my eyes.
Before long, I had both heels on the bed as I moved against his hand.
He pushed the finger of his other hand inside of me, and this time it was better. This time I wanted it to move.
“Can I go deeper?” he asked hoarsely.
“No,” I gasped. “Just keep doing that. Move it. Just like that.”
I felt I was getting close to something when he seemed to lose it again.
I glanced down at his lap. I hadn’t even realized he could, but he was coming again, jerking into the air.
I hadn’t even had to touch him. He was coming just from touching me. I reached a hand out, stroking him, feeling it with him, as though with touch I could own his orgasm for myself.
And as he came, and came, he got careless with his hands, jerking his finger harder and deeper inside of me. With a stifled cry, he shoved it in to his knuckle.
I jerked, my eyes shutting tight in pain. “Dante!” My voice was an embarrassing yelp.
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he panted, and he sounded it. “I didn’t even know I could do that. My fingers are too big. Jesus. I’m sorry.”
I glanced down as he pulled his finger out of me. It was bloody.
I closed my legs and turned away. “I’m not supposed to start my period,” I told him, mortified. “I don’t know what happened.”
He started kissing my back and stroking me like a cat. “That wasn’t your period. Jesus. I’m sorry. I broke your barrier. Your hymen. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I thought it would only break when we had sex. Did I hurt you?”
“A little bit. Nothing major. It just surprised me.”
His breath was getting heavier near my ear. “Can I look? Are you too sore for me to keep trying? I want to look at you. I want to get you off.”
I let him cajole me onto my back again, let him push my legs apart and look at me, because it seemed to be driving him wild again, and I was absolutely addicted to driving him wild.
And just as strong of a motivation; I wanted him to get me off. I wanted to know what it felt like; the thing that put that madness in his eyes.
It took a long time, it was unfamiliar ground for both of us, but he was patient and curious, and he worked me with his hands until he wrung my very first orgasm out of me.
He kept his fingers in me as I clenched on them, a look of wonder on his face.
“Does the hymen thing mean I’m not a virgin anymore?” I asked him later.
“It means that you’re mine,” he said intensely, kissing me.
I had the most ridiculous, impossible thought then: I’ve just planted the seeds of my lifetime obsession.
I’d never need more than him. He fed all of my needs. He was just difficult enough to challenge me, but tender enough to make me feel safe.
Dante and I fit together perfectly. I’d been made for him and him alone. The idea of even looking at someone else in that way was intolerable to me.