His cock was hard, flushed dark, the skin of his head gleaming smooth and taut in the light of the reading lamp.
She saved his eyes for last, their blue looking dark, deep. Through all the scrutiny, he lay still, hands on his thighs. His lips were still parted, and his own curious eyes abandoned their exploration to meet hers.
“Thanks,” she said.
“For what?”
“For letting me just . . . look at you.”
“Thanks for the same. You’re beautiful.”
She smiled and looked down, shy in a grateful, authentic way. “Thanks.”
“You’re perfect.”
She met his gaze. “So are you.”
His hand drifted slowly to cup the base of his cock, caressing the underside in slow, faint strokes. “I want you.”
“Anything.”
“I want you on top. I like you like this,” he added, focus dropping to her breasts, her legs, back up. “All shameless.”
She smiled again, blushing. “I like me this way, too.”
“Hang on one sec.” He moved, sitting at the bed’s edge to root through the side table drawer. He took out a box of condoms, drawing his nail along the lid to break the seal. He detached one from a strip and stowed the rest.
“You mind?” he asked, holding out the little square.
She shook her head. Casey got back to where he’d been, legs spread, back against the pillows and headboard. She rolled the rubber onto him slow and careful, the act feeling like foreplay for the first time ever, instead of some awkward, mood-killing necessity.
“I haven’t been on top in ages,” she whispered, straddling his legs.
“Are you ready? I got lube, too. Or I could use my mouth, whatever you need.”
Lube? Did people actually use lube? Abilene never had, ever in her life. Her very first lover had made it clear, if a woman wasn’t wet, it was about the worst insult you could deal to a man’s ego. James had always done the job with his spit, and she’d found that scandalous—felt ashamed that she’d needed it, but also relieved that he’d bothered to care.
“What?” Casey asked, smiling at whatever upended expression she was wearing.
“That’s not . . . Do people do that? Just use that stuff?”
He laughed. “Lube? Yeah, of course. How else do you have sex in a big messy rush?”
She wasn’t sure. Sometimes it was just uncomfortable, she’d figured. She’d always blamed herself for those times.
“Have you seriously never used lube?”
“No. Doesn’t it . . . I dunno. Hurt your feelings?”
He snorted. “What kind of an asshole has the nerve to get his feelings hurt when he’s about to get laid?”
Most of my exes, probably. She supposed it stood to reason, when you played the apologetic, deferring vessel, you attracted men who were content to treat you that way.
“The bottle’s in the drawer,” Casey said, nodding to the table.
She found it, messed around with the safety seal, recapped it. “How much do you . . .”
Casey took it, squirted a small shining blob on his fingers. She watched with fascination and excitement as he slicked his cock. Crazy. All this time, she’d assumed this was the woman’s responsibility.
“Here.” He wetted his fingers again and reached down between her legs, gently stroking the cool gel along her lips. Her breath drew short, from both the sensation and the brazenness of it.
Casey laughed softly, capped the bottle and tossed it aside. “Hope you don’t think we’re cheating somehow,” he teased.
Maybe a little, but really, that was her first lover’s voice, echoing from the back of her mind. She’d much prefer to listen to Casey’s, which seemed to be telling her this was completely normal.
“Lay down a sec,” he whispered. She did, and he moved to kneeling, straddling her leg, fingers returning to her sex to trace her now-slick seam with slow, light motions. “Feel all right?”
She nodded, all at once flushed and breathless. She’d never been touched like this, with such patience and reverence and curiosity. Her pleasure wasn’t lost on him. He lowered, coming closer, bracing himself on one arm and casting her in a thrilling shadow. She could feel the heat coming off him in waves and memorized the flex of his arm as he touched her, the expression on his face, the promise of his ready cock.
“Could you . . . You know, inside me,” she mumbled. A clumsy sort of request, but the fact that she was directing at all was miraculous.
“With my fingers?”
“Yeah.”
He gave her two, slow and smooth, and her mouth dropped open.
He studied her face as his fingers worked, lust blazing in those blue eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“Just about how good that feels.”
He added his ring finger, the penetration changing, heightening. His name fell from her lips.
“You want me to make you come?”
And she knew he could. Knew it as a natural fact. But she wasn’t ready for this hunger to be over. She wanted to still be feeling all of this as he sank inside her. “Not this way, not yet. I want to feel you, first.”
His hand slowed, then withdrew, and he knelt beside her. “C’mon.” He urged her to him by the waist. One of his hands was slippery, the detail feeling dirty and exciting and new. She came close to straddle his hips, lifted up, and he held his cock steady as she eased down.
“Oh.” The sensation was potent, this way. Obscene and a little intimidating, with her on top, and the friction all smoothed away.
“All right?”
“Yeah.” She found the right angle, and with a slow, steady push she was seated tight against him. She could feel him inside, thrumming faintly.
“Christ.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Her collarbone was at his mouth, and he kissed her there, humming a hungry breath.
“You feel good,” she said, starting to move. Her hips felt stiff, out of practice, but the motions were exciting. Something in the way her muscles flexed deepened the sensations inside, doubled them. Casey held those hips. His gaze was nailed between them, right at that explicit point of contact.
“Do whatever feels good,” he murmured, sounding hypnotized. “Whatever you want from me.”
She’d never come on top, but was eager to experiment. In time she found an angle that brushed her clit against the base of his cock when she eased forward and back, taunting with a tease of hair and the lip of the condom. The friction flared, urged her with a hit of heat and a tightening of her sex. She kept at it, and with each roll of her hips, she felt the pleasure drawing deeper, warmer, more urgent.
Casey moaned. He seemed to have noticed her fixation, and she nearly abandoned it, feeling self-conscious. But he held her hips tighter, locking them into those short, taut little strokes. They couldn’t feel like much to him, but her excitement must. And she couldn’t deny how good it was, how wild it felt, chasing the mounting pleasure.
Inside her he felt sinful, thick and hard, yet somehow patient, like he could do this forever, just be what she needed. And isn’t he? Isn’t he exactly what I need? In too many ways to ponder without losing track of her emotions.
One of his hands drifted higher, tickling her belly, her ribs, then cupping her breast. It was rough, but not scratchy, and he eased her into the touch, merely holding her first, letting the shock of it dull. In time he drew his palm up and down softly, stiffening her nipple and leaving her breath short. Her eyes closed and she moaned, every ounce of simmering pleasure doubling. Next came his thumb. He didn’t tweak—she’d never liked tweaking—but ran it back and forth, back and forth, such perfect friction she felt an orgasm solidifying, growing heavy and hot inside her.
“Casey.”
“What do you need?”
“This. Just this.” She needed nothing except to keep going, and inside a minute, it came—that scary-hot rush, the desperate crest, the quenching plunge on the other side.
He stroked her cheeks and her hair, smiling as she came down, looking what could only be described as besotted. His complexion gave away his own excitement, his flushed skin not matching his patient, bemused expression.