me under, make me see stars…
Oh. Right there. Yes, right there. I say it out loud, trying to keep him in place, and he doesn’t move. Just keeps doing the same thing, again and again, because he knows I’m close. I’m so close. Chanting his name over and over again until I’m coming. I fall right over that delicious edge, let his lips and his tongue and his fingers pull me under, seeing nothing but blinding white stars.
I’m a melted heap of flesh and bone after he’s finished with me, and when he slides up to lie by my side, I crack open my eyes to find a very satisfied smile curling his perfect lips.
“You liked that,” he says, and it’s not a question.
“I’m not going to answer you,” I say primly, closing my eyes and breathing deep. I’m trying to calm my still racing heart but it’s difficult. Especially with him next to me, his fully erect cock brushing against my thigh.
“You fucking loved it,” he whispers close to my ear, just before he nibbles it. His hand is on my waist as he rolls me toward him and I press my body against his, trapping his cock between us.
I am desperate to have him inside me.
“You’re right.” I grab hold of him and pull, so that we roll until he’s on top of me. He’s heavy, his weight pressing me into the mattress, and it feels so good. He’s such a big, muscular man, and I love it.
I absolutely love it.
“Maybe we should wait a—” he starts but I cut him off with a kiss, my tongue seeking his. Minutes later he comes up for air and mutters, “Okay, we definitely shouldn’t wait.”
And then he’s gone, crawling out of bed, going in search of his wallet, which I know he finds in less than a minute, if his triumphant “Ah-ha” is any indication.
He crawls back into bed, his weight making the mattress dip, and then he’s there, condom in hand, gathering me into his arms and holding me close.
“I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was fifteen years old,” he admits, his voice, his gaze so very, very serious.
“Really?” I reach up, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “Fifteen?”
“That’s when we got together. My sophomore year and your freshman year,” he reminds me.
I’m still brushing his hair, sifting the soft strands through my fingers. ”We were so young.”
“I thought you were the hottest thing alive.”
I tilt my head, contemplating him. “Seriously?”
Nodding, he reaches out, tapping the tip of my nose with his index finger. “Really.”
“I didn’t understand why an older boy was interested in me,” I confess.
“You were so cute and funny.”
“I was a big nerd,” I remind him.
“Not true.” He replaces his finger with his lips, kissing my nose. “You were beautiful. You still are. And you were so damn smart. You made me laugh. You made me do things I never would’ve done.”
“Like go to a craft fair.” That was one of our first dates. My mom dropping us off at the local craft fair so we could walk around and look at the booths and eat food, holding hands the entire time.
It was the dreamiest first date ever.
“I only did it to be with you.” He kisses me, his lips extra soft. “I can’t believe we’re here. Right now. All these years later.”
What do you mean?
I want to ask him that question, but I’m scared to know the answer. Maybe what we’re doing means nothing to him. In his eyes, this could be all fun. Nothing serious. A chance to consummate the relationship we started all those years ago.
He could leave, and I’d never see him again.
The lump that forms in my throat at the thought is hard to swallow past.