Elizabeth Finn: Restoring Jordan

He grinds his pelvis against my bottom with my hips held firm in his grip as his mouth nuzzles and purrs against my neck. And when he pulls me around to face him, his eyes flash with unrestrained need. His brow flinches as he takes me in, and he pulls me along after him through his incredible home. His bedroom is large, and his bed likewise. The large picture window faces a valley of thick trees this neighborhood is built in to. I can’t imagine ever being able to own a home such as this, but this is my fantasy—to restore every last interior detail to original beauty. This man has everything I ever hope to have one day.

“Sit,” he speaks as he rests a gentle hand on the back of my neck. I turn toward him, lowering myself to sit on the edge of his bed. He towers above me as I look to his eyes that smolder even in their darkness. He loosens his silk tie, pulling the end through the loop to free himself from it. He then unbuttons his shirt. His eyes are studying mine as I study his hands, waiting for the present he’s unwrapping for me. As the skin of his chest starts to show through, my heart rate quickens. When his well-muscled stomach shows as the fabric of his shirt is parted, my breath leaves me. And when his hand undoes his pants, I swallow hard over the golf-ball-sized lump in my throat. He hooks his thumbs under the waist of his pants and underwear as he gently pulls them both down, and I’m left with my heart lurching in my throat at the sight of him.

All of my confidence leaves in an instant. He’s magnificent … and terrifying. This will definitely hurt me. But he leaves me no time to ponder the logistics of it before settling on his knees in front of me, and with a quick hand he reaches for the zipper of first one boot and then the other. He eases the zippers to my ankles and pulls the boots from my legs. Next, his fingers pull my knee-high stockings to my ankles. His fingers trail down my calves, and my nerves go crazy at the touch. His hands may be all man, but his touch is so very soft. It’s intentional. I’m guessing everything this man does is intentional. He knows what his touch is doing to me; the look in his eyes makes this clear, and if that isn’t enough, the goose bumps that have flushed my skin speak volumes.

As caught up as I am by his touch, my eyes are drawn between his legs to his engorged and hard penis. He’s kneeling on the floor at my feet, and his hand moves to the shaft of his rigid arousal and strokes up, rounding the head with his palm before stroking back down once more. He knows I’m watching his every move, and he’s enjoying my gaze on his body. But moments later he abandons his body for mine and pulls apart my knees in one gentle but swift and demanding movement. If my heart was racing before, it’s racing at a furious pace now. This isn’t the first man to touch me—demand me to open up in this way, but he is the first man I’ve wanted to open up to.

He looks to my face as he leans to my naked sex, and with one final comment he moves in to take my body with his mouth.

“Don’t take your eyes off me. I want you to see every last taste I take of your sweet pussy.”

I watch. I watch his first lick, his first kiss. I watch as he parts my lips with his gentle fingers. I watch when his tongue meets my sensitive folds of skin, and I watch as he claims every last inch of flesh between my legs. When a quiet moan escapes from his mouth, which is still latched to my vagina, I am watching. And as his tongue moves to my virgin entry that is so very ready, I melt … and I watch. His tongue pushes within me, plunging, tasting, taking over my body. I want more of him there. I want all of him there. My fear is gone, and I’m ready. And as his tongue glides back between my slick, wet lips to my innervated nub, my orgasm tears through me in a scream that leaves me shuddering and shaking as he pulls his mouth from my wetness.

Incredible. I had no idea it could be so powerful. It’s not my first orgasm, but like all other experiences with this man so far, it supersedes any previous experience I’ve had. His tongue was warm, and he touched in just the right way—soft and yet firm and demanding. The nerves of my body were bent to his will the moment his mouth was on my skin. He now pulls away from me and returns his hand to his long, hard length, and I quiver in anticipation. He’s stroking his length, and I want to reach for him, but he’s a stranger. Can I simply touch him uninvited? He’s touched me, but can I do the same? Do I have that kind of nerve?

Before I can work up the nerve to be so bold as to touch him, he stands swiftly, walks to the door of the bedroom, and shuts off the light, leaving only the dim floor lamp in the corner to illuminate the room. We’re suddenly enveloped in warm, dim lamplight that creates a soft and comforting cocoon. He approaches the bed once more, grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand, and climbs to the bed behind me. My heart rate quickens once more, as I know the time has come. Sink or get off the ship, as they say. Shit or get off the pot—not nearly so sexy an adage, but you get the picture. His hand touches mine, and as I turn my face as he waits patiently at the head of his bed, he coaxes me to approach him.

I move slowly up the bed, crawling on my hands and knees toward his body, and as he stretches out, he guides me up his body to hover over him. Now I’m scared. I don’t have any idea how to do this, and lest I own up to my inexperience with this incredible specimen of a man, who will no doubt laugh at my naïveté and kick me out, I’m going to have to do a damn good job of hiding my apprehension. He wants me to fuck him. He wants me to take the lead, and while self-confidence is hard to find on a good day in the real world, it will be damn near impossible in this world.

“Will you be on top?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound desperate and pathetic.

His shrug is mild as he responds, “If that’s what you’d like. Though, I had hoped to watch you ride me…” He smirks but moves to his side so I can stretch out beside him.

As I’m shifted to my back beside him where he can gaze at me, I return the comment. “Maybe next time.”

It was meant as nothing more than an expression, but he’s quick to respond. “I don’t do ‘next times.’”

The sudden and swift emotional reaction I have to these words stops me cold. I know what this is—a one-night stand. It’s what I wanted, but his quick response to my words is still a small rejection. Odd I’m lying next to a man more beautiful than any other I’ve ever met, I’m here of my own choosing with no qualms about how this will play out, and yet I’m hurt by the resolution in his voice when he makes it clear we won’t see each other again. Perhaps this is more than what I’m capable of. But I won’t be turning back now.

Having taken my place next to his body, I reach with a slow hand to his chest. The skin is warm, smooth, and covered with a smattering of dark hair. His muscles are tight, and as I run my hand down his chest to the rippling, tight muscles of his abdomen, he shudders at my touch, and I watch his reaction. His eyes have closed, and he’s breathing slow and deep breaths as my fingers linger on his stomach. The head of his penis nudges against my hand, and to this point I’ve ignored it, but it was the reason for my hand’s descent, and as I watch his contented, relaxed face and his eyes that are closed and seeing nothing at all, I reach for the head of his cock, which has drawn my attention since the moment he lowered his pants.

At my first touch, his cock flexes and jumps, his breath catches in his throat, and his eyes flash open to find mine. When I stroke the long and hard shaft my body has been begging to touch, his breath releases in a sudden rush. He is larger than any man I’ve ever seen; of that I’m certain. Touching his skin is intoxicating. He’s smooth yet ridged and veined, and his response to my touch is the encouragement I need to continue.