STELLA
His thrusts were so forceful that they sent ripples through my entire body. Waves of both pleasure and physical force made my hips, tummy, boobs, and eyes tremble. In the midst of it all, I had the light-bulb moment to beat all light-bulb moments: I’ve never had sex with a real man until now.
Again and again he drove into me, and I was astounded to feel a flicker of what felt like an impending orgasm from the inside out. That was like El Dorado, as far as I was concerned. But he was doing it to me, driving into me straight into the Lost City of Orgasm Gold.
“Oh my God, Nick,” I said. Instantly, he slowed down, looking me in the eye, like he was checking on me. His hands, which had been digging into my ass, possessive like I belonged to him, slid up my back. He pressed his forehead to mine. “Oh yeah?” He’d slowed his thrusts, but he was still hitting . . . the spot.
The spot. The G-spot. G, as in OMG. G for glorious. G for growl. G for great. G for . . .
“Come for me, Stella. Come on this cock. Own this fucking cock.”
Honest to Jesus it was like being in a movie. It was like being in a dream. It was like somehow, I had conjured up the man I’d always wanted to find and poof, here he was. And now he was about to make me . . .
“I’ve got you,” he said, working his hips in a slow undulation. “Just let go.”
But I was into my head too far, and as quickly as I’d felt it happening, it faded away. I’d psyched myself right out. I knew it was nerves, but I couldn’t help that. In the sex intramurals, he was varsity and I felt like I was trying out for JV. The Lost City of Gold was out there, but I didn’t know how to actually get to it. Not yet.
Maybe it was my hesitation, or maybe he read my mind, but in response he flipped me over again, fast and ruthless without a moment for me to squeal or laugh. I was on top and taking all of him. With my tongue pressed to the roof of my mouth I made a noise so primal, it didn’t sound like it had come from me at all. He gripped my waist in his big hands and held me still as he powered into me from underneath.
“Let me watch you,” he said. “Make yourself come. I’ll fuck you straight through it.” He moved my hair off to one side, gentle yet unpracticed, so that I felt the pinch of a hair or two getting pulled.
And that did it. That little bit of pain distracted me and got me out of my head far enough to surrender; I growled and started to fall down into it. I put my fingers to my clit and began doing exactly what I loved, exactly what I needed to do.
“Fuck yeah,” he said, his eyes locked on what I was doing, followed by a slow, nearly silent whistle. “How’d you get so goddamned sexy?”
I knew nothing about hotness right then. I was just a girl on the edge of . . . “Nick. You’re going to make me . . .”
“Fucking do it.”
“Loud, I’m . . . llll . . .” Oh God, it was starting to happen. The trapdoor had sprung open, and I was on my way down.
“Roar for me, beautiful. Make the neighbors hate us. Do it.”
The pleasure made me start to lose track of time, of everything, except him and me together. And his eyes. And his hands. And how much I wanted to give myself to him. “I’m going to . . .”
“Now?” he asked. “Right now?”
“Yes . . . Right . . .” It was like falling into the ocean off a dock.
His thrusts changed. The rhythm intensified, and the shudders of pleasure seemed to shift inside me, from front to back, to everywhere. I knew then, this wasn’t going to be the sort of orgasm I gave myself with my Magic Wand and my subscription to Lucie Blush. This was going to be . . .
His grip tightened. His face got serious and aggressive. His grunts changed to deep guttural growls. Animalistic. Relentless. “Look me in the fucking eye, and come with me, Stella. Come. With. Me.”
Oh.
My.
God.
We fell asleep in a sweaty, warm heap. The last thing I remember was his lips pressed to the side of my head and him saying, “Holy, holy shit,” as I drifted off to a lovely happy place with his arms around me, his body behind me, and Irish Spring all around.
But when I woke, he was gone. I patted the bed where he’d been lying and squinted against the light of the lamp. It was dark out and it felt late, but Nick was nowhere to be seen.
I sat up with the sheet over my boobs like I was doing a love scene for a soap opera. This wasn’t exactly how I’d planned on this ending—Ubering home from a guy’s house in the dark of night. A midnight skedaddle of shame. There were no icky feelings associated with that at all.
I got control of my wake-up thoughts and carefully scanned the room. His boots were still there, in a pile with his pants, my jeans, my T-shirt, and all the rest of our stuff tangled up together. And now there he was too, standing in the doorway. Buck naked and smiling. Gulp. Hello.
“There she is,” he said, coming into the bedroom. In one hand, he held the bags with our caramel apples.
Helllloooooo.
In the other hand he had two wineglasses upside down, the stems between his fingers, and he carried a bottle of wine under his arm. He set it all down on the bedside table, and I couldn’t help but admire the way his abs curled as he bent over. He belonged on a two-story billboard, not in bed with me.
Turning to me, he handed me the bottle and a corkscrew. Admittedly, not the suavest thing, but I was all for division of labor. Equal rights and all, maybe? Still, though, it was a bit odd. “Full-service operation you’re running here,” I said as I began to strip the foil with the end of the corkscrew.
He leveled me with a fake glare. Or maybe it was a real glare. “That’s so you know I haven’t slipped you a mickey.”
I wasn’t the kind of girl who needed protecting. But a little part of me kind of . . . loved it. “Well, that’s very nice of you.”
He winked, clicked his tongue, and gave my thigh a little squeeze. “Just want you to know you’re safe with me, sweetie.”