Lauren Blakely - The Thrill of It

“C, D, E, F, G. Whatever they are, I fucking love –” he emphasizes that last word “–having my hands on them.” Then he squeezes them. Hard. “Sorry, I’m supposed to be gentle.”

“It’s okay. I like the way you touch me.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” I say. “You make me feel incredible.”

“You are incredible,” he says.

He kneads them roughly once more, brushing his thumbs over my nipples. He moans and I sigh at the same time, and we both laugh.

“You forgot one more item to take off,” I tease.

“I didn’t forget. I just want to savor it.” Then he slides his hand between my legs. His eyes widen when he feels the cotton panel of my panties. Touches me. Learns how turned on I am. I rock into his hand. “Fuck savoring. I need to get these off.”

Then he is no longer slow or lingering. He is frenzied and fevered as he pushes them over my hips and down my legs. I am naked before him and I love being naked with him.

He eyes me greedily, drinking me in as if he’s desperate for what’s next.

“I want you, Harley. I want to sleep with you. I want to make love to you,” he says, breathing out hard as he starts tugging off his own shirt. “And I’ve never fucking said those words before. I have never said make love. I have never wanted to make love. And I think those words are cheesy and ridiculous, but they’re not cheesy and ridiculous with you. Because I’m so fucking in love with you that I will say things I’ve never said. I’m dying for our first time.”

Sparks of electricity zoom through me, and every single inch of my skin, of my body, of my heart is reaching for him, needing him, wanting him. I am longing for something I’ve never had before and now I can’t imagine being without. I am hot all over and tingling everywhere. My veins, my blood, my bones, everything is singing out to be touched.

I grab at his waistband, fumble at the zipper, tug down his pants, all while he’s kicking off his shoes, trying not to trip over his clothes. Somehow, he manages to step out of his jeans and is now only in his boxer briefs, and we are both panting and frantic.

“Condom,” I say. “Do you have a condom?”

“Yeah.” He steps away from me to reach for a foil packet in the nightstand next to his futon.

Then he pushes off his underwear, and he’s naked and gorgeous and throbbing. I draw in a deep breath and bite my lip briefly. This is going to happen. This is real. I’m going to say goodbye to my virginity, and I’m going to have him inside of me, and I honestly don’t know how there’s room for him in me.

“Are you sure you’re going to fit?” I blurt out, a touch of nerves in my voice.

He laughs once, wraps his hand around my waist and tugs me gently down on the futon, laying me next to him. Skin to skin, flesh to flesh. I look in his eyes and I’m flooded with so many feelings – love, lust, anticipation, fear. It is staggering, but I am ready.

“I’m pretty sure the parts are all designed to fit.”

I gulp, bringing my hand to his belly, letting my fingers dance near his erection. “You’re just really big.”

“We’ll take it slow, okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, but I’m scared. I don’t want my first time to hurt. I want it to be amazing, even if that’s asking for the moon. I don’t care. I want the moon and the sun and the stars with him.

“Do you want to put it on me?”

He hands me the packet. I look at it like it’ll bite. “Tell me how.”

He rips open the foil. “Pinch the top, then roll it on,” he says, and he moans in pleasure as I slide it on him. “See what you do to me? I get even more turned on just from you doing that. You can do anything to me, Harley. Anything.”

I lie on my back, propped on my elbows, and foreplay is over and that’s fine because the last several months have been foreplay, and now there is only this.

When he hovers over me, my shoulders shake once, twice.

“You okay?”

“Yes. No. I’m nervous as hell.”

“We don’t have to,” he says as if it pains him, but still I love that he offers an out.

“I don’t want an out.”

Then he teases me, rubbing the head against me through all my wetness, and it feels so good the way he’s touching me. I start to spread my legs wider for him. “You’re so wet it’s almost a sin for me not to go down on you. But I love that you’re so wet,” he says, then he pushes into me. Not far, maybe an inch. Hell, maybe even half an inch.

I tense up.

He meets my eyes, asks me with his if it’s okay.

“It’s okay,” I tell him as I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “You can come in more,” I say, with a silly smile because the words sound silly.

He slides in deeper, and I clamp my legs against his. “Are you sure?”

I breathe out deeply, yoga breaths, deep calming exhalations. Then I spread my legs again, relax my body, and tell myself that it will feel amazing because it’s him. I close my eyes and nod into his shoulder, then run my hands down his strong back, to his ass, guiding him.

He sinks slowly into me, and the pain is intense. It’s like my stomach has been jammed up into my neck. I am being stretched in directions I didn’t know I had. This man is so big, and I don’t know how he’s fitting inside me. Oh wait, I do know. Because when he thrusts once, my spleen leaps into my chest.

I grit my teeth and try to tell myself it’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soon. He’s turned on, he’ll pump once, twice, three times, and he’ll come, and I can curl up and let the pain roll out to the night.

Then I feel his breath on my neck, his stubble on my cheek, his hand on my hip. “Harley, I don’t want to hurt you. I can tell you don’t like it,” he says, but he’s not mad, he’s not hurt. He’s simply being honest.

And I decide to do the same. I open my eyes, look up into his. They are so earnest, so heartfelt. “Yes, it hurts. But it’s okay. I can handle the hurt,” I say, and it’s strange, but true. Because maybe it hurts now, but it might not hurt the next time. Or in five minutes, or in five seconds. And with that, I start to relax, to let go, to give in. As I do I realize the pain is fading, and now I just feel full with him deep inside me. I let go of the tight grip I have on his ass, and of the way my strong thighs are holding him like a vise.

Then he slips his hand between my legs, and he slowly, softly rubs me with his finger while he moves inside me. I gasp in pleasure for the first time.

“Oh!”

I let my eyes roll back into my head, and I can feel him smile.

“That better?”

“Yes,” I say with a happy sigh. “More.”

He slides his finger across me, rubbing me, stroking me, all while sliding gently in and out, and the sweep of pleasure from his finger starts to consume me. And soon, I’m opening my legs farther, and I’m wrapping them around him, and I’m taking him in. And holy fuck. He’s all the way in me and it no longer hurts. It starts to feel good, this feeling of being filled, of his hard length moving in and out of me, of his nimble finger rubbing me. Then the tingling sensation grows stronger, ripples through my veins like a wave, and I shudder.

“God, I fucking love this, Harley,” he groans as he touches me. “I fucking love being inside you. I love touching you. I love you so damn much.”

His words thrill me. His feelings shred me and soon, all the hurt washes away, and I am left with only the barest of essentials – this imperfect moment in time with this perfectly damaged man who is mine and who knows all of me, and still loves me, and still wants me, and doesn’t want to turn me into his fantasy, but he wants us to create a new reality together. I wrap my arms around him and he sinks deeper. The stretching is still bizarre but it’s delicious at the same time, and I want to feel every second of it as I start to rock with him, to move with him, and then his pants and groans aren’t solo anymore. They’re meshed with mine, with these sounds and noises I make as I gasp and moan from his finger working me over in the most delirious way all while he thrusts into me.