“It feels so good to be here with you.” He pulls me into him, arms going around me and to my backside. Fingers squeezing my ass as his lips find mine.
I moan, excited.
This whole thing with him is the most exciting thing to happen to me in a long string of assholes.
The hand sliding up my leg is a soft, gentle caress beneath my skirt. The thick bulge I felt in the kitchen nestles into the valley between my legs, too many clothes between us.
I find the hem of his shirt and tug it until he gets the hint, sitting up so he can slide it up and off and toss it to the floor.
It disappears in the dark.
Selfish and greedy, my hands skim him everywhere, discovering all the scars across his skin. His nipples. The hair smattered across his muscular chest.
He’s breathing hard now and we’re only touching each other in that exploratory way you do when you’re naked with someone for the first time, taking them in, observing them, feeling them—feeling them on you.
Every touch is a new sensation you’re sharing together.
Davis can’t quite figure out how to remove my dress, so I do it. Now laying here in just my bra and underwear, I know they won’t be on my body for long, either.
My fingers go to the zipper of his jeans.
“Let’s get these off of you, too.” I lower the zipper and slide the pants down his legs, wanting them off. Off, off, off.
Naked.
Skin on skin.
My fingers are greedy as they brush over his bare body; he is banged up and bruised and I’m grateful for that because my body is far from perfect—there are things I want to work on that I’d prefer he not see but those are my own insecurities.
They fade when I notice little things about him that I would have thought I wouldn’t see; like the way his stomach isn’t flat. And the fact that he doesn’t have a six-pack the way I’d assumed he would. Or the long scar on his abdomen where he must have had his appendix out.
I’m glad Davis is human and not a supermodel.
I don’t think I could live with that.
Reaching down toward the foot of the bed, he pulls the white, down comforter up and I hunker down underneath it, cozy and snug as a sexual little bug, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him beneath it, too.
We kiss again, laying on our sides, all of our tastiest bits pressed against one another.
His dick burrows between my legs.
His hands roam.
His breath quickens.
Rolling so he’s braced with one arm on either side of my head, Davis does a plank above me. I kiss his left arm at the bicep. Sniff it, wanting to inhale and memorize the smell of him. Pressing my lips against it.
He feels huge resting above me and this whole night feels… monumental.
“Goddamn, you’re sexy.” His mouth meets my shoulder, planting kisses there.
“I feel sexy.”
He is sexy.
His hands are as they caress my breasts, over and under and down my side boob. Fingertip circles my nipple.
I could get off on that.
Davis’s dick—that I assessed as soon as he slid his pants off—is average, thank god, and eases into me slowly when I spread my legs, no theatrics or giant cocks not fitting to ruin our moment—whoever said bigger is better hasn’t met me. Give me an average dick any day and I’ll be happy.
Davis’s face is glorious as the range of emotions pass over it.
Ecstasy.
Bliss.
Pleasure.
His sharp intake of breath when he slides into me as deep as he can go has me gasping, too. My breath is labored as soon as he enters me, my head tipped back against the pillow as he begins rotating his hips, pressing into my pelvis with his.
Deeper.
More. “More.”
He goes deeper.
Deeper still, tentatively, but surely.
“Yeah, like that,” I encourage him with words, lifting my hips off the mattress, so his dick hits me where I want it most.
“That feel good?” He’s moaning, voice dipping low into my ear, through my cerebellum, straight to my pussy.
Huge turn-on. Raging lady boner. “Feels so so good.”
“You’re so tight, Juliet.” He’s moaning into my hair now, fingers raking through it too, gripping my mane just tight enough so it’s not painful. “Fuck, Juliet. God, you feel good.”
It’s pretty damn perfect.
Back and forth; push and pull.
Hips, lips, bit of teeth.
Tingles ebbing and flowing through my veins and brimming to life an orgasm that promises to be explosive.
First mine.
Then his.
We’ve barely worked up a sweat—it hadn’t taken long at all to reach this point—lying there next to each other once he rolls off my body, head on the pillow beside mine.
He reaches for my hand.
We lay there breathing heavy, both of us staring up at the ceiling, and every so often he gives my palm a squeeze, thumb moving up and down.