Laine

My feet are bouncy as I follow Nick upstairs. He flashes a glance back at me, and his eyes are fierce, with a sexy kind of darkness that makes me feel like a clumsy kid.

I am a woman, I tell myself so. I’m eighteen after all. Totally ready for this. Totally ready for him.

If only the butterflies whirling round my tummy would believe me.

He gestures me on ahead at the landing, and I head for Jane’s room before it occurs to me that maybe he won’t want to… not in there… but he doesn’t say a word, just follows me in and closes the door behind us.

And then he stands.

Staring.

Watching.

“What?” I giggle.

“I’m looking at you,” he says, and my laughter dries up. “I love looking at you, Laine.”

He examines me, up and down, taking in every single gawky part of me, and I try not to worry about my little breasts, or the weird-shaped birthmark on my thigh, or my bony knees. I try not to worry about whether I’ll be good enough. “You’re so very beautiful. You have no idea.”

“Kelly Anne says I’m not sexy. She says I’m cute, like a doll, but not sexy. I don’t really do sexy, though…” I admit, and I’m rambling. Nerves.

“I’m sick of hearing what that idiot Kelly Anne says,” he says, and my eyes widen. “You’re sexy and you’re cute. You’re everything she’d want to be if she wasn’t putting it out to anyone who’ll have her after a few tequilas.”

I’m so aware of myself. So aware of the skinny jeans Nick bought me, and my baby pink cami and fluffy cardigan. So aware that I don’t look dressed for this, despite his compliments and the warmth they give me inside. “Should I, um… change? Into something more…” I begin, but he shakes his head.

“No. You’re perfect just as you are.”

Perfect.

I want to feel perfect.

I want to be perfect… for him.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing…” I take a breath. “I hope I’m not rubbish… I hope you’re not…”

“Shh,” he says, and my heart leaps as he moves towards me.

He’s so tall, towering above me as he closes the distance. I can smell him. Woody and deep. I love the way he smells.

He tips his face up to mine and my breath comes in shallow little gulps.

“Relax,” he whispers, and his head dips enough that his breath tickles my ear. His hands slide to my shoulders and squeeze, and it feels so right.

I feel the firmness of his chest through his shirt. The warmth of his fingers as they slip inside my cardigan and push it from my shoulders. I feel it crumple around my feet.

“My beautiful girl…” he whispers, and the husk in his tone makes my legs go quivery.

His breath is a warm rhythm, his lips pressing to my skin, and it makes me shiver wonderful shivers. I wrap my arms around his neck, the fine hairs prickling as he kisses so lightly along my jawline.

He pulls away, then pauses, eyes on mine, and I fidget, wet my lips, shuffle from foot to foot.

His eyes stay firm, right on target. My breath is so shallow and his is so steady.

He moves slowly. Lowers his head slowly.

And then his mouth lands right on mine.

The world stops moving. For that moment. Stops.

One long perfect moment.

And the butterflies go crazy.

His kiss is firm. Strong like him. Lips warm and soft.

His tongue pushes inside my mouth, and he lets out a groan, and I love that. I love the way it sounds. I love the way his tongue feels, too. Hot and just the right amount of wet. I love the way it moves around mine, the way he pushes so deep. I kiss him, like I think I should, my tongue twisting with his, my eyes closed tight as I take it all in. I’m making little noises, and my fingers tangle in his hair, and that’s soft too.

He doesn’t stop kissing me as he holds me tight and walks me backwards. My ankle catches on one of Jane’s stuffed toys, and I stumble, but he’s got me. He holds me steady, guides me back a step at a time until I feel Jane’s bed against my legs, and then he breaks the kiss. Pulls away with soft presses of his lips to mine.

I open my eyes and he’s smiling. My lips feel puffy and tingly, and my cheeks burn hot as I smile back at him.

He runs his fingers through my hair, and I gasp as he pulls tight. He tips my head up, and I’m staring, staring at how strong he looks, how different he looks.

“You’re such a good girl, Laine,” he tells me, and my heart lifts for him. “I’m going to take care of you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

I nod, and the way my hair pulls in his fist catches my breath.

“You want to be my good girl, don’t you?”

There’s something in the way he says it. Something that makes me feel floaty.

“Yes.” I nod again, and he pulls my hair tighter.

“A firm hand, Laine. That’s what you need, isn’t it? Someone to look after you. Someone to watch out for you. Someone to love you and nurture you.”

“Yes… yes I do,” I tell him, and that makes the tickles come harder.

“Don’t be scared,” he says, and there’s that tone. That caring tone. “There’s no need to be scared. No need to be nervous.”

He lets go of my hair, and once again his fingers glide to my shoulders and squeeze. I feel the tension slipping away from me. His touch makes me feel so wanted, so loved.

I take a breath as his hands move down. Slowly. His fingers hook inside my cami and tug it down, and my stomach churns inside.

I feel so self-conscious in my plain bra, white and dull with just a little trim of lace. I wish I’d have picked something more raunchy, something more… anything, but the look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care one bit.

The look in his eyes tells me he likes it.

His thumbs brush my nipples through the fabric, and I can’t help but gasp; it feels so good I have to clench my thighs. He notices, and his smile is so bright and so dark at the same time.

“That’s it,” he whispers, and his thumbs stroke back and forth, tiny little movements that sends little sparkles all the way down to my clit. My nipples are hard, his thumbs catching, and I gasp again when he stops. I really don’t want him to stop.

He lifts my top up and over my head. My hair swishes as the fabric pulls free, and I feel so exposed, standing before him with my little nipples poking out through my bra.

His hands are so hot on my bare stomach, skin tingling as his fingers sweep up my ribs. I find myself leaning back, rolling my shoulders to show more of myself than is really there, but his hands cup my little breasts, and nothing can hide how small they are. He thumbs again. Back and forth again. I’m clenching my thighs again, with quiet little gasps coming out with my breaths.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, and his hands snake to my back. A flash of nerves as he unhooks the clasp, and my bra falls free. He drops it to the floor, and I look down at myself as he stares. My nipples are hard little peaks. They look so pink against my pale skin.

“You have such beautiful breasts, Laine. Beautiful.”

I love the way he sounds so… mature.

In control. He sounds so in control.

“Thanks,” I say, and I’m biting my lip as he rolls my little tits in his fingers, squeezing flesh that is barely there, tugging at nipples that send crazy sparks right through me.

He groans, and it’s so horny I can feel it in my pussy. “Such pretty little tits, Laine. Sweet little nipples, so pink. They’re perfect. I knew they’d be perfect.”

I make a little squeak that I hope sounds grateful.

“Look,” he says, and I do. I stare down at him playing with my nipples, and his hands seem so big, his fingers so strong as they pinch and pluck and flick at me. “Divine,” he says. “You’re simply divine, little Laine.”

He tugs at them again and my clit sparks so crazily that I think I could come. Right here, right now, still in my jeans with nothing but his hands on my tits. My clit’s fluttering so hard I’m clenching my thighs, over and over, rocking my hips to press myself against the denim seam.

“Good girl,” he says. “Tell me that feels good.”

I nod. “It feels really good.”

He presses his knee to my thighs and I gasp as he makes me part them. He hitches me onto him, his thigh hot and firm between mine, and his hand grips my ass, encourages me to grind myself as his other hand presses to my ribs, coaxes me to arch my back.

Unsteady. I feel unsteady. But it feels too good to care.

I rub myself against Nick’s thigh as my little tits stand proud for him. His breath is in my face, hot and steady as he presses my nipple and circles, and it feels so good I’m not nervous anymore. I moan as he twists and pinches, and I’m asking for more, asking for harder, and I don’t even know what I want, I just want more.

He hitches me tighter against him, and I feel him. Feel his hardness against my belly. I rub myself faster, pressing myself tight, hoping he likes the way it feels, hoping he feels horny like I do. And he must, because his breathing gets faster, and his fingers get rougher, squeezing at my tit until I suck in breath.

“Yes…” I grip at his shoulders for leverage. “Please…”

“That’s my good girl,” he growls. “My sweet little horny girl.”

I can’t stop. Rubbing myself against him so fast. The denim of my jeans straining and the ridge of his dick feeling so big against my tummy.

“I’m gonna…” I begin, but I can’t finish. I don’t think I can say it. “I think I’m gonna…”

“Come,” he says. “Come for me like a good girl, Laine. Come for me!”

And I do.

My clit does that fluttery thing that makes me gasp in breath, and I’m clenching and making little noises and rubbing so hard.

I’m humping Nick’s leg like I’m on heat, and he wants it. I feel his dick tensing, pressing so hard.

He pinches my nipples, one after the other and I squeal for more, and then a tremor runs through me.

I shudder and squeak and rub and cry out, and I’ve never orgasmed like this. Never so hard.

He groans, and his hand is clammy against my back, his breath hot against my face as I slump against him, trying to gather my breath. Trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

“Good girl,” he rasps, and I love it. I love it when he calls me that.

My heart is racing so fast I start giggling.

“That was amazing,” I tell him. “Thank you. Wow, just… wow.”

I’m smiling as I meet his eyes, and his are still burning, still fierce.

“That was barely the beginning, sweet Laine,” he says, and his fingers reach for the button on my jeans.