I want him to so bad. I want him to give me an orgasm; I’ve been craving it since we had sex.
Biting down on my lower lip, I gasp out an excited breath as soon as his mouth makes contact with my nether region, legs parting of their own accord. I’m a bit desperate, if I must admit—desperate for him and the contact and the connection. If I can’t have his dick inside me tonight, I will sure as hell settle for his lips, teeth, and tongue.
He nips at the sensitive skin of my thigh, large hands caressing me, fingers seeking the warm heat of my pussy.
I cover my eyes by slinging an arm over my forehead, blocking out the light from the windows though it isn’t much. I want every one of my senses for this moment; I’ve been waiting for it for a while, not really sure it would come.
I think I love Roman.
Actually, truly love him.
Which makes this all the better.
I mean, ideally we wouldn’t be fooling around in his parents’ house, but we’re alone, everyone is in bed (allegedly), and it’s not likely anyone will barge in (fingers crossed). Do younger brothers have a habit of busting in uninvited?
My ears strain for the sounds of footsteps down the hallway, and when I hear none, I refocus my energy on Roman down under.
For a guy who comes too soon during sex, he is truly gifted at oral. The right amount of pressure. The right amount of mouth and tongue. A bit of finger.
It. Is. So. GOOD.
“That right there,” I encourage him. “Don’t stop.”
It seems he’s not the only one who doesn’t take long to climax, my lower half already doing that thing where it wants to have an orgasm…it only needs a little…more of…that…thing…he’s…doing…
“Yeah, yeah, oh my god…”
I lift my ass up off the mattress, spreading my legs wider, which doesn’t help me come any quicker.
I lower my ass.
Clench my pelvis.
Thank goodness the lights are off—I’m probably bright red, desperation blazing across my brow. There’s definitely sweat on my upper lip; I want this so bad.
Anything worth having is worth sweating for, my coach always says—and she’s right. This is worth it.
I tip my head back when the sensation hits and my knees start to quake and I’m unable to keep them apart, my body spasming in that wonderful way.
I make very little noise, only whimper, much quieter than Roman was when he orgasmed.
His mouth kisses my pelvis after I’m finally lying still.
“You sucked the life right out of me,” I joke, running my fingers through his hair—my new favorite thing to do. He’s so handsome, more so now that I can see his face.
“I could say the same about you.”
“See,” I tell him. “It’s not just you who comes fast. How long did that take me, three minutes?”
“No one is timing it.”
“Then you shouldn’t worry about it either.” Real talk, though—I don’t want to always have to wonder if he’s going to finish so soon before I do. Sometimes a girl just wants to ride a dick and come the old-fashioned way.
He rolls over and kisses me, arms around my waist, pulling me in. “Practice makes perfect.”
But no one is perfect. We won’t ever be, though we can try to be better.
15
ROMAN
Lilly and I are going on a date.
Our first.
Odd that it’s taken us this long to get to it, but I guess being in the friend zone derailed the concept of us dating. Plus I was too chickenshit to ask.
Tonight I have a few surprises up my sleeve, and I look out the window, grateful for the snowy surroundings. Couldn’t be a more perfect backdrop for what’s planned, and goddamn am I nervous.
I feel like this is the first time I’ve been out romantically with a young woman, and for all intents and purposes, it is. Odd how things work out, isn’t it? Here I thought moving out of my parents’ house wasn’t going to change much about my life; I would still study hard, I would still be a homebody, I would still rather hang out with my family than party.
What I didn’t think would happen is a relationship.
When I walked into that kitchen and saw Lilly sitting at the counter, I never in a million years would have guessed I’d be dressing to take her on a date weeks later.
Did not see this coming.
Standing in front of the mirror, I adjust the tie around my neck, wondering if the knot is too small. Or too big? Haven’t tied one myself in years. Mom usually does it, which…makes me sound like a mama’s boy, which I most certainly am not.
As I’m re-tying it for the third time, frustrated that I can’t seem to perfect it, Eliza and Jack are bounding up the stairs, laughing and flirting, and I’m sure he just goosed her in the ass.