“I was in a hospital. Someone had almost killed me. I wasn’t at my best.”
I gazed down at him, and said, “I can see that.” I reached for him, slowly, and laid my hand against the warmth of him. But I was losing my patience. Another time I’d be slower, but now I wrapped my hand around him, let the thick round hardness of him fill my hand. His upper body spasmed, raising a little off the bed. I slid one hand to his balls and massaged them, while I stroked the thick velvet warmth of him. “So soft, and so hard, all at the same time.”
I stroked him, until his eyes lost focus and his neck spasmed, so that he was closed eyed, and didn’t see me bend down. I slid my mouth over the tip of him while he wasn’t looking, and he cried out, as I worked my mouth down the length of him. I knew what I wanted. I wanted all of him inside my mouth, down to his balls, at least once. Next time I’d start with him smaller, now I had to fight for it. I’d gotten better at deep-throating, because sharing a bed with Micah, it was either get better at taking more, or stop doing one of my favorite things. Practice paid off, I sealed Nathaniel inside my mouth in one hard, clean line, until my lips touched the top of his testicles. I could only stay for a moment, then I had to come up. Up to breathe, up to let the wetness from my mouth trail down the shaft of his body.
I raised up on my knees, between his thighs, and the look on his face was worth all the effort. In fact, worth so much, that I had to do it one more time. Then I came up more shallow on him, so I could move better, thrusting him in and out of my mouth. Licking him, rolling him, sucking him, and when he was making enough noise, very lightly, I used teeth.
“Oh, God, yes, yes, please.”
I moved off him enough to ask, “Please, what?”
“More teeth, please.”
I frowned at him. “Most men think that hurts.”
“I’m not most men,” he said, and there was something about the way he said it that made me press my mouth back over him. I sucked him, pulling hard and firm, then forced my mouth down on the shaft, not as far as before, and bit him, not too hard, but harder than I’d bitten any other man I’d done this with. I kept my eyes on his face, so I could see if it hurt him. The look on his face had nothing to do with pain. His eyes were wild, and he said, “Harder.”
I looked at him.
“Please, Anita, please, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”
It wasn’t my bits being bitten, but I was reminded that Nathaniel had once had no stopping point, no danger-do-not-cross sign. I could do what he wanted, but it was up to me to make sure it didn’t go too far. I was finally doing what he’d always wanted. I was topping him.
I went down on him fast and hard, and this time I bit him hard enough that my teeth closed around that thick, meaty flesh. I had a momentary flash of not theardeur, but of the beast, and its craving for flesh between teeth. I pushed it away, but I also came off of him and didn’t do it again. But I’d done enough, because his eyes were rolled to whites, and he was writhing on the bed. His hands had grabbed mounds of the sheet, and his body strained, and bucked against the bed.
I waited for him to lie still, though his eyes stayed like butterflies, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. When I caught a glimpse of lavender eyes between the fluttering, I stroked him gently.
I stroked him with my hands, until I had his eyes looking at me instead of the inside of his own eyelids.
He looked up at me, his lavender eyes lazy, and his smile was like the cat who got the cream. I wrapped my hand around that warm, thick, length. Wrapped my hand and squeezed. “I want this inside me.”
When his eyes opened, he said, “You haven’t had any foreplay.”
I squeezed him again, watched his spine bow, and his head throw back, sliding the long braid of his hair off the bed, like something escaping off the edge. “Trust me, Nathaniel, I’ve had foreplay.”
When he recovered enough, he said, “You’re not the only one who hasn’t gotten to touch someone below the waist.”
I closed my eyes. “Please, Nathaniel, please, just make love to me. I want you to finish what you started in the office, please.”
He looked at me, and there was something in that look that was very male and very grown-up. “You liked that, did you?”
I gave him a look, then said, “You were there, what do you think?”
He sat up, and I was suddenly surrounded by his legs, his arms. He kissed me, and the kiss was gentle, but not chaste. He explored my mouth the way I’d explored his legs, and ass, lightly, delicately, savoring it. But one hand was sliding down the front of my body, until his fingers slid over me. My body reacted to that light touch, but his hand didn’t stop. He traced a finger around the opening to my body.
“You are wet.”
“I told you so.”
He slid the finger inside of me and stole my breath. Then he pushed two fingers inside of me, and with the tips of his fingers found that spot. He flicked the tips of his fingers, just the tips, flexing them fast, and firm against that spot. And it was as if that part of my body had been waiting for him, as if all the work he’d done earlier, was still there, because those quick, firm touches, brought me. Brought me screaming, nails digging into his shoulders, and back.
He caught me with his other arm around my waist, or I would have fallen back to the bed. He slid his fingers out from inside me, and said, “Now, you’re ready.”
Since all I was seeing was the inside of my eyeballs, and speech was not an option, I tried to nod, but I really don’t think I needed to. As they say, actions speak louder than words.
51
I watched his face above me, as his body worked in and out of mine. He stayed propped on his arms, his legs were bent toward me, so that he acted as a frame for his own body. Seeing him sliding inside me threw my head back, spasmed my body, but I fought for control.
Fought to see him. To watch him, this first time. This first time after so many false starts. I fought my body, fought the amazing sensations that were filling me, fought, because I wanted to see his face.
Propped up like he was, it was shallow, and usually I liked it deep, but something about the angle, or the depth, or lack of it, or the rhythm, which was quick, so quick, began to bring me. I could feel it starting. I remembered in time to gasp, “When I go, you go.”
His voice was strangely controlled, as if he were concentrating very hard on what he was doing. “You can go more than once, I may not be able to.”
I touched his face, held it light between my hands. “When I go, you go, no more near misses.”
His eyes smiled down at me. “Agreed.”
And suddenly there was no time for words, no time for debate. The orgasm tightened my body, then spread outward, blowing through my body, my skin. I rode that wave after wave of pleasure. His eyes went wide, as if they were surprised, and his breathing quickened, his body hesitated, paused almost, then he thrust himself deep inside me, and if I hadn’t held his face he’d have thrown his head back, but I wanted to watch his eyes. They were almost frantic. His body spasmed again, and this time the orgasm caught me unprepared and my hands lost his face, my eyes rolled back into my head, and I screamed.
He collapsed on top of me and thrust as hard and sudden as he could. I shrieked under him and clawed at his back. His skin gave under my nails. He writhed on top of me. Writhing with his body still thrust deep inside mine, caused my nails to dig deeper, and I set my teeth in his shoulder, screaming into his skin. Making a gag of his flesh between my teeth.
Nathaniel’s body liked the pain. It was as if, as long as I hurt him he wasn’t done. The more that my nails and teeth dug into him, the more his hips pumped into me. It was like we were caught in an endless loop of pain and pleasure, and the line from one to the other blurred.
His breathing changed again, and when his body threw itself backward, in orgasm, I still had my teeth in his shoulder. He tore himself out of my mouth. I released him in time to not take a bite out of him or lose a tooth, but not in time to keep from drawing blood. I was suddenly drowning in the taste of his blood. Sweet and salty and metallic, and underneath that, something else, something more. I’d bitten his neck only hours before, and I had not been as aware then of the taste of his blood. It was like the difference between gulping water because you were thirsty and sipping wine to enjoy the bouquet.