As he reaches my bed he traces a finger along my lower lip, pausing in the middle and dragging it down.
A whimper escapes me in response, his other hand moving forward, grabbing my worn t-shirt, grabbing it by the collar. In one movement he rips it to the side, exposing me and causing me to gasp and bring my hands up to cover my bare breasts.
“Don’t you do that,” he growls. “Don’t you ever do that.”
“What?”
“Hide your perfection from my eyes. Keep from me what belongs to me. Show me your perfect little body, and be proud of it because you damn well should be. An expert Roman sculptor couldn’t have created anything more feminine, more beautiful if he had all the marble in the world and a lifetime to try.”
Slowly I lower my hands, my breasts on full display. He cups them with both hands, and then applies pressure with his palms, pushing me onto my back as he mounts me.
“How do you like my hands on your body?” he asks.
“I like it. A lot.”
He growls into my flesh, his mouth taking in one nipple and then the other, sucking, flicking, licking.
Tracing a circle around my areolas, his lips then move to mine, searing me with a kiss before he trails down the side of my face, nibbles on my earlobe, and then drags his tongue down the side of my neck.
My body responds, shivering as goosebumps cover me, then easing into the feeling, accepting his touch and begging for more.
My hands find my knees and I push them apart, daring him to take the cherry I’ve been saving for him all these years.
“So fucking ripe and ready to be eaten,” he acknowledges.
“Yes. I’ve been saving it for you.”
“Me and only me. Mine,” he growls, kissing his way down the middle of my stomach, his hands grabbing my hips when he arrives at the top of my panties.
His hand slides down, grabbing my undergarment, and then he yanks them down mid-thigh, staring down my pussy.
I swear I can see his mouth watering from the moonlight coming in from the window, the bed shaking in response to his body doing the same.
“Fuck, it’s like that perfect little pussy of yours has me under a spell. You shave it just for me?”
“So you could see what belongs to you.”
“Damn straight.”
Diving in head first he licks straight up my folds. Grabbing a pillow I pull it over my face and hide my moans. The pillow, despite cutting off my airflow, proves to be a great decision because as soon as he flicks the tip of his tongue over my pearl I cry out, praying the polyester stuffing squelches my cries enough to keep my parents where they belong.
Away.
“Fuck you taste so sweet, so innocent, so pure. And so ripe for the picking at the same time. So hot, so musty.”
I grab the back of his head and press his face into my sex as he explores my virginity with his tongue.
“First. Only. Last,” he moans into me, his words sounding hoarse, broken.
My fingertips slide down his skull, along his neck, and dig into his back as I experience overwhelming pleasure like never before.
He buries his face in my channel, the bridge of his nose applying pressure on my clit while his tongue enters me.
Pulling the pillow away I gasp for air, trying to keep from passing out but not from the lack of oxygen.
My veins are pumping hard but my throat feels like there’s a hacksaw inside, like my mouth is full of cotton. He’s taking my breath away one lick at a time.
I grab his face and will it to my mouth, kissing him ferociously, tasting myself on his lips.