Christa Wick: Slow Hand Curves

Oh, Jesus. I’d never been kissed before, not in any way that counted, most certainly not like this or by a man like Sam. Another moan shook loose from me. His thumb and two fingers zeroed in on my swollen nipple, rolling the sensitive tip back and forth while he sucked at the corner of my mouth.

I didn’t need any prior experience to know he was an insanely good kisser. No, he was a great kisser. He mixed just the right amount of force with a little nip or lick, leaving no question who was in charge of the kiss. I pressed my palms against his shoulder, too timid to clutch at him no matter how much I wanted to.

“This is what you came for, right?” His voice had mellowed to rough silk. His lips brushed along my jaw line before returning for another kiss.

“I’m n-not sure,” I confessed. There had been no mention of kissing, or that Sam would touch my breasts or anywhere other than down there.

“You want me to continue.”

No questioning lilt marked the end of his sentence. He was telling me I wanted him to continue. He was right. I couldn’t bring myself to admit it — not with words. Slowly I nodded, the motion precise so that there would be no mistake between the vertical lift of yes and the horizontal slide of no.

A smile played along one side of his face. The hand teasing my breast moved lower. His fingertips slid beneath my panties. The fabric was a light satin pink trimmed with lace. I had purchased them and a matching bra the night before.

The pads of his fingers gently raked the soft blonde fur covering my sex. He sucked at my earlobe, whispering and taking small bites that made me moan. His fingers started a light dance against the seam of my swollen folds. I squirmed, wanting to lift my hips but without the boldness to do so.

His hand dipped down, discovering me wet, my thighs clenching. Hooking a finger, he trailed it back up, separating my lower lips to find the hard pearl they concealed.

“Such a thick, swollen clit, Hollywood.” Sam nuzzled my neck. “Is it sensitive?”

“Oh, yes.” Most definitely. I swore I could feel the ridges of his thumbprint as he moved down to stroke the length of that hard ridge of flesh. A thrust escaped my control and I closed my eyes in shame.

“Shhhh…Amber.” His fingers moved back down, reaching my hole and tracing its edge. The muscles contracted at his touch. “Very reactive pussy. Is that word familiar to you?”

“N-not really.” Another swirling, tracing sweep of his fingers around the throbbing tissue brought my knees jerking up, my thighs spreading ever so slightly.

“Does it offend you?”

I shook my head. The word didn’t sound bad the way his mouth shaped it. Naughty, yes. Very, very naughty, but not the least bit offensive.

“Good. It’s a hot, sweet pussy. I’ll make it purr.”

My eyes rolled up, lashes fluttering. He might not be able to hear it, but I was purring already. Moisture leaked from me, wetting the smooth strip of skin that ran down to my other hole. Contractions squeezed at both openings, the intervals between each pulse growing shorter and shorter.

His thumb rubbing at my clit, Sam pressed two fingers against the opening to my pussy. Sensing his intention, I tensed and gave out a little cry.

He couldn’t know.

Neither could I warn him.

“Amber, unless you tell me…” His throat caught at the words. He swallowed hard, the first sign of uncertainty since I’d met him. “Unless you tell me you’re a virgin, I’m going to stroke inside you.”

My hands had never left his shoulders. I fisted the fabric of his shirt. I was afraid to have him enter me, to lose my virginity in a therapy room with a near stranger. But I was more afraid that he’d stop cold and send me packing if I admitted I had never been with a man.

“Baby, answer me before I go too far.”

I closed my eyes and bit at my bottom lip. I was still breathing through my nose, but fast and very deep, my chest rising and falling faster than the beats of my heart. I had to trust he would go only so far as was right.

I heard a soft growl and then his lips swept down, landing for a second on my collarbone before his mouth took possession of my nipple. His hand swiveled between my legs so that the heel of his palm pressed against my opening while his center three fingers moonwalked up and down my clit.

He pulled the nipple taut, hooking and holding my gaze when I finally opened my eyes to watch him. He was so damn beautiful. The green of his irises had darkened to a deep forest, while the thick dark brows and lashes made the remaining pale green embers smolder.

Releasing the nipple with a wet pop, his mouth traveled lower, following the contours of my stomach and hip as he moved around the table. He peeled my wet panties off, pocketing them with a devilish smile before his hands and thick forearms slid under my bottom and dragged me to the edge of the table.

He wasn’t…really, not…

Those green eyes flashed and I realized he really was going to do it — he was going to kiss me down there, to part my folds with his tongue the same way he had with his fingers. He was going to lick and suck and-

Oh, sweet heaven! His mouth made contact. My back instantly arched, pushing my breasts high, their tips hard and aching from the absence of his lips. Long strokes started with the tip of his tongue teasing the entrance to my pussy and ended at the top split of my labia. Just when I thought my bones were going to crawl out of my skin, his lips settled on the most sensitive part of my sex — that hard little nodule tucked within the hood of my clit. He worked its edges, circling, attacking.

Unable to stop myself, I grabbed two fistfuls of his luxurious dark hair. He wouldn’t let me hold him where I wanted — desperately needed — him to be. He pulled my hands from his hair, his mouth abandoning the throbbing focus of my entire being to kiss my fingertips.

“You’re having dinner with me, tonight.”

Dinner? He’d stopped to ask me out — really? Didn’t he know how close I was or that I had never…

“Tonight, Amber.” He blew a cold line of air against that small kernel of need.

“Yes, yes…tonight…please…” My hips gave an impatient roll. My hands flexed and twitched inside his like a spider on angel dust. “Just…finish, Samuel…please.”

Slow to restart, he seemed intent on driving me crazy all over again, pushing me back from the abyss of my first ever climax just so he could teasingly reel me in once more. The side of his puckered mouth brushed the inner flesh of one plump lip as he continued to blow cold air on my achy little clit. He repeated the motion, this time along the other thick, swollen lip of my pussy. His mouth hovered, the cold air replaced by warm and humid breath.

“Such a sweet tasting pussy.” His words whispered against my skin, made me whimper with my need. “Are you going to let me eat it again?”

“Oh, yes.” My eyelids fluttered. As far as I was concerned, we could spend eternity in that room. The contractions that had gripped my pussy spread their way along my clit. I could feel the skin pulling taut, imagined it dancing upwards before the contraction ended.

Sam watched the motion repeat, kissing the center each time the muscle relaxed. The interval between kisses lengthened. The kisses became shorter — the contractions stacking hard and nearly unrelenting. His tongue rejoined the dance, made fast little flicks against that dangle of flesh. The pads of his thumbs teased my opening, threatening but never venturing inside.

I had lost all track of the music, but I caught the thread of the woman’s voice, the rumbling melody reaching its crescendo. I lifted my hips, pushing, grinding, gasping…

“Oh!” My hips jerked. My mouth opened in another gaping oh and then my expression froze. I was coming, my climax rolling through me like a freight train across an open field. No x-ray would show it, but my bones fractured, splintering into a million pieces if only for a few exquisite moments.