Eliza pushes back from the table, a little grin on her face. It’s nice to see her excited about going to bed with me instead of nervous. She’s learning to trust me with her body, even if she’s still moving slow. I’m okay with that. She’s worth the wait.
“Come here, my bride,” I say, scooping her up in my arms with a growl.
She gives a little shriek and kicks her legs, but she’s laughing as she links her arms around my neck and leans up to kiss me. I carry her to the bedroom and lay her down on the bed.
I’ve never been selfish enough to get off without making sure I got the woman off, too. I thought that meant I wasn’t a selfish lover, but with Eliza, I realize that’s not true. Making a girl come has always been a point of pride to me. I was doing it for my ego, to prove that I was a good lover. Or because I knew she would tell her friends, or I wanted her to tell her friends, that I was good in bed. But I was still doing it for myself.
With Eliza, I don’t think about myself. She makes me take things slow, think about only her—what she wants, what she needs, what feels good to her and what is triggering.
For the past week, we’ve gone slow, and it’s hard to see progress, but we’re intimate in the ways she’s comfortable with. We kiss, and I let her explore my body, which she likes so much it kinda goes to my head. I’ve never been with a girl who was so painfully innocent, so curious, so fascinated by my body, not just my dick. Maybe the girls I’ve been with were as selfish as me. We were always both just thinking about getting off.
But Eliza isn’t thinking about that. Whenever she gets close, she freezes up and backs off. She seems more interested in me, which I have to admit is hot as hell. She’s fascinated by things no one else has ever paid attention to, like the fact that guys like their nipples played with, too, or how to touch my balls. She likes to lie her head on my belly and breath on my cock and watch it get hard. And she seems pretty intent on learning to excel at blowjobs and hand jobs both.
Still, it’s frustrating. As much as I love seeing her pretty mouth open for me or her lips all swollen and shiny with my cum after sucking me off, I want to offer the same pleasures to her. I want to touch her the way she touches me, with freedom and wonder. I want to spread her open and sink my fingers into her little pink cunt and make her moan for more. I want to taste her, to fuck her with my tongue until I push her over the edge, and I want to feel her lose control and cum in my mouth. And I want to fuck her hard and deep, to cum inside her while she screams my name.
But we’re a long way from there. Instead, I spend a lot of time with the nudes she texts me.
I set her down on the bed, and she squiggles out of her loose tank, tossing it onto the nearby chair and pulling off her bra. Her tits are mine for the taking, so I push her back and suck on one and then the other, running my hands over the incredible smoothness of her skin until she’s panting and squirming against me. I move up to her lips, sliding my tongue into her willing mouth as she pulls up my shirt to run her hands over my abs.
“Take this off,” she says, breaking the kiss to tug at my buttoned shirt. I undo the top few buttons and pull it off, followed by my undershirt, so I can press my bare skin to hers. When we’re back on the bed, lying face to face, I slide a leg between hers as our mouths meet again. After a while, she rolls over onto me, pulling her knees up to straddle my hips as she runs her nails over my skin, making goosebumps rise and my nipples harden. She smiles down at me, and my cock throbs against her.
Leaning down to kiss me, she covers my pecs with her palms, and I reach for her tits again. I roll her nipples between my fingers until she’s squirming against me, her hips rocking on mine. I sit up, holding her body against mine with one arm while I keep squeezing her nipple with my other hand. She throws her head back, riding me in a way that makes me imagine the clothes between us gone.
The sensation of the softness between her thighs against the hardness of my erection makes me want to come in my pants like a fucking virgin. But this is for her, so I ignore the ache in my stiff cock and let my lips play over her throat in that way that always makes her sigh with pleasure. I help her keep rhythm, gripping her hip as she moves faster, her hips rolling against my cock.
I massage her tit, pinching her nipple a little harder. She gasps, tensing like she’s going to jump off me the way she always does.
I release my grip on her nipple and wrap my arms around her, cradling her close but not too hard, so she’ll feel comforted, not trapped. “It’s okay, you’re safe,” I say quickly, stroking her hair back from her cheek. “We can stop if you want, but you can let yourself go with me. I’m here, baby. I won’t hurt you. Can you keep going?”
Her eyes clear, and she relaxes. I begin to move her against me, adding a little motion in my own hips to rub my cock right at her center. After a minute, she closes her eyes and drops her head back, her beautiful hair falling in waves down her bare back to brush my hand that holds her hip. I watch her rock, her tits rising and falling, the little freckles that dot her skin like a constellation on full display. I take her nipple between my fingers again, squeezing it gently while I massage her breast with my palm. When I apply pressure, a stitch pulls between her brows and her pink lips part in a little “o.” Her fingers dig into my skin, and she tenses up, but this time, it’s not fear gripping her. I can feel her cunt throbbing against my cock, and I have to think of horrible things just to keep from exploding with her.
I watch her cum, and it’s everything I thought it would be. Breathtaking. Triumphant. Agonizing.
When she relaxes at last, I can’t help but grin.
“Holy shit,” she says, letting out a shaky laugh. “Is that what it’s all about?”
“Yeah,” I say, cradling her head and rolling over, laying us both on the pillows. “That’s what it’s all about.”
She looks at me, her big, luminous eyes magnified as they fill with tears.
“Hey, whoa,” I say, stroking her cheek. “What’s wrong?”
In answer, she covers her face and begins to sob.
eighteen
Eliza
Sometimes, I know I’m doing something stupid, and I can see that as if I’m my future self or an outside observer, and I know it’s not helping, but I keep doing it. I know that crying like an idiot after my first orgasm is stupid. I know the thoughts clashing in my head are irrational and self-sabotaging, but I can’t stop them. I’m terrified by what just happened, by what I felt for King in that moment.
I’m past thinking he’s the enemy, but I realize as he’s holding me that he’s something much more dangerous than an enemy. He’s a lover. And a lover can destroy you in ways an enemy can’t even begin to imagine. You know better than to let an enemy in, after all. A lover is already in. They may not even mean to cause you harm, may not hold any ill will toward you. And yet, you can see their soul like the trap that it is, open and ready to pull you and swallow you whole, drown you in pleasure, trap you in bliss like a fly in amber.
It’s everything I always feared about sex. I’ve never even had full sex, but one orgasm and I know I was right. It makes me weak, makes me need it, craving it already like a junkie needing a fix already after the first hit. I knew it could trap me, I just didn’t know how fast it could happen. Maybe that’s why I kept holding back, why I stopped every time King got me right to the edge. I knew once I went over, once I felt orgasm and knew what it was like, I’d want more. Less than that would never be enough—never again.
I knew it was a trap, but it felt so good that I let myself be caught. And now he holds me in his arms so gently, as if they aren’t teeth waiting to snap shut on me, consuming my life until I don’t even remember what it was like before, until I want to stay home and make him spaghetti and clean his house, and one day I’ll look back on the big dreams I never had a chance to even imagine, and I see that all that’s left on the path behind me are little shards of bone that he picked clean and spit out.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, smoothing my hair back and looking at me with those dark eyes like wells I could fall into and no one would ever find me. His brows furrow with concern that could drown me.