Roxie

Caleb has possibly the largest, brownest, most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen on a guy, and as I look into them, I can see all his thoughts and dreams passing behind them, like fish in a tank.

His fingers are tight on my hips, and I can tell he wants me to go slow. Suddenly, I know he hasn’t done this for a while.

Why the hell not? He’s so gorgeous, he could walk out of a bar or nightclub with a different girl on his arm every night.

I’m not going to think about it now, sitting here naked astride him, with the tip of his erection pressing against my entrance. But I do nod, telling him that I’ll follow his lead and take it slow.

He releases my hips, sliding his hands around my back, and I rock backward and forward a few times, lubricating his length with my moisture. His gaze remains fixed on mine, and as I finally lower onto him and accept him inside me, his lips part and he exhales with a long aaahhh.

I close my eyes for a moment. Oh, wow, that feels good. I clench my internal muscles, enjoying his grunt of approval as I tighten around him. Mmm, yeah, I like that. I open my eyes again, and he’s still watching me, his lips curving up at the corners.

Slowly, I begin to move, sliding him in and out of me. Every part of my body feels hypersensitive, and it only increases as he continues to stroke me, his hands travelling down my back, around my ribs, over my breasts, and up to my shoulders. He seems to enjoy just touching me. His touch has an oddly reverential air to it, a worshipful quality that I can’t say I dislike. He has a way of making me feel special, which is bizarre considering I am very un-special, just an ordinary girl that the majority of guys don’t even look at twice, let alone men from Caleb’s social standing.

I doubt that most guys even look at my face, and they certainly never gaze into my eyes like this. When I kiss him, he closes his eyes, but when I move back, he watches me as if he can’t bear to tear his eyes from me. If I were the kind of girl who blushed, I’d be scarlet by now, but I’m not, so I just hold his gaze and move and let him stroke me.

I know I sound like a stuck record, but I’m just not used to this. I thought sex was about using the other person’s body until hopefully you achieved orgasm. If you’re lucky, the guy’s kind enough to help you out occasionally, but most of the time whether I come or not is down to me. Guys can usually come just by thrusting away, so I’ve always known it’s up to me to stimulate myself in the right places if I want to climax. I’ve got it off to an art now, so most of the time I do.

But hmm, it’s different tonight, with Caleb. He’s not going at it hammer and tongs, as my grandmother used to say, and he’s not looking over my shoulder with his gaze fixed on the wall, or screwing up his eyes as he pictures some big-boobed bimbo from a secret fantasy. He keeps teasing my nipples and kissing me and watching me, and when he drops a hand between us so he can arouse my clit with his thumb again, I realize he’s holding back, waiting for me to come first.

Holy fuck. What a gentleman.

“What?” he murmurs, smiling as I frown at him.

“Are you for real?” I rub a thumb across his lips.

He takes it in his mouth and sucks it before releasing it. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

I continue to rock my hips, but I don’t quite know what to say. When I told him he was right if he thought I like it rough and dirty, I meant it, and I fully expected he’d take advantage of that. But instead, he’s… holy shit… he’s making love to me.

My head spins. I’m on unfamiliar territory here, and I’m not sure I like it. Maybe it’s time I took things to the next level.

I kiss his mouth, then his cheekbone, up to his ear, and down his neck. Ohhh, he smells terrific, and I nuzzle him like a dog and touch my tongue to his skin to taste him. He sighs and tips his head to the side. My lips curving, I fasten my mouth on him and suck, hard.

“Fuck.” He jerks upright, and I sit back smugly, admiring the red mark darkening on his neck.

“Gonna have to wear a shirt and tie to the party tomorrow,” I tell him.

He stares at me, and then his lids lower to half mast, as if he’s realized that I’m trying to provoke him into picking up the pace.

Without warning, he slips an arm around me and tightens it, and then he pushes off the sofa. I squeal as he tips forward, landing me on my back on the carpet. Oh yeah. I wrap my legs around his waist, preparing myself for the inevitable hard fuck I’m about to receive.

But he lowers onto his elbows, makes himself comfortable, and then starts moving, giving long, slow thrusts while he kisses me, dipping his tongue into my mouth.

I’m puzzled, because I thought this was why he came home with me—I thought he was attracted to me because he wanted it hard and fast, and I look like the type of girl who enjoys that. But he continues to go slow, and when he lifts his head to look into my eyes, there’s amusement there, as well as a dark desire that makes me shiver.

“Come for me, Roxie,” he says in his deep, sexy voice. He kisses me, teasing my lips with his tongue and teeth, his hand skating over my ribs, over my breasts. He tugs on the nipples a little, then strokes down to my thighs, up over my waist. My whole body is humming—I’m surprised he can’t hear it.

Where he’s thrusting, he’s grinding against me, and I realize with some surprise that I’m going to come without having to touch myself. For once, I don’t have to fight for pleasure. This man’s bringing it to me, laying it at my feet, and as I start tensing inside, I see a smug satisfaction on his face, so he can obviously feel it too.

“Yeah,” he says with a sense of victory that’s just so hot, and that’s it, I’m coming, and I gasp and clench, conscious of his mouth covering mine as if he wants to capture every breath. I dig my fingers into his butt beneath his jeans and boxers, pulling him toward me, and revel in every pulse before I flop back onto the carpet, limp and panting.

Caleb continues to kiss me, though, still moving, still slow and steady, as he nibbles my lips, kisses down my neck, cups my breast, and teases the nipple with his lips. I feel like I’m in a warm bath, swimming in sensuality, and I stretch out before him, waiting for him to take his own pleasure from me.

But he takes his time, teasing, arousing, plucking at my nipples, grinding against me. Hot and holy fuck, he’s expecting me to have another orgasm, and the amazing thing is that slowly I feel my body responding again.

My breathing starts to grow uneven, and it’s only now that he increases his pace, filling the air with the sounds of sex—the slickness of him inside me, my gasps, his grunts—and I’m spiraling, I’m drowning in pleasure, and fuck, I’m coming again, and this time he joins me, thrusting hard, burying himself deep within me while I clench around him, this second orgasm even more intense than the first. I dig my nails into his back, and he stills and shudders. Ohhh, this guy is gorgeous, especially so while he’s coming, and I force my eyelids open and watch him, enjoying every second of his bliss, every sharp thrust of his hips.

By the time it’s over, I’m a noodle, limp and floppy, and it seems he’s the same, because he withdraws and moves off me, then rolls onto his back on the carpet. We look up at the ceiling, panting and gasping for air as if we’ve been screwing underwater, and all I can think is Holy shit, that’s it, that’s done it, things are never going to be the same again, because I know that no man I sleep with now is ever going to match up to the guy lying at my side.