Megan Hart - Stranger

He shook his head. “No.” He put his hand over mine and pulled it away from his chin. “So don’t make me be one.”

He’d improvised, surprising me. I looked at his hand circling my wrist, and to the way his face had shaded from eager to intent. Yet unlike at the Pharmacy or even the first time he’d kissed me, Jack wasn’t hesitating now. He was going for it the way I’d advised.

It was working.

There is always a part of me that can’t get lost in the game. No matter how thoroughly I’ve imagined the scenario or how good the players, something inside me refuses to cooperate. Refuses to allow myself to be convinced, even for an hour, that I’m someone else. It was why I’d never played this game before, the older woman giving the younger man his First Time.

Except here and now, I was older. Jack was younger. And this was our first time.

I tugged my hand, but not hard enough to break free of his grip. “What makes you think I shouldn’t?”

His fingers closed tighter. “Because you want to.”

And I did, a fact the heat rising in my throat and cheeks couldn’t hide, nor the way my nipples poked at the front of my shirt. Or the way my mouth parted to allow the swipe of my tongue along my bottom lip. Jack looked at all of these signs, so blatant, but he kept the role in which I’d cast him.

“Do you want to touch me?” The words came out scratchy and hoarse, but I didn’t clear my throat.

He nodded. We stayed that way, him holding my wrist and staring into each other’s eyes for as long as it took for my heart to stutter-thump a few times. Jack’s fingers opened, freeing me. I put my hands out to my sides.

“Then go ahead.”

His gaze fell to my body. For a minute I wished I’d worn something sexier, a short skirt and garters, maybe. Yet when he put his hands on my waist, pushing up my shirt to do so, I was glad I wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. It was less of a cliché…which made it feel more real.

Jack’s thumbs pressed my belly while his fingers curled around to each side of my spine. He waited, taking a deep breath and staring hard at the place his hands disappeared beneath my shirt.

I was supposed to believe he’d never touched a woman before, at least not like this. Watching the set of his mouth and his steady stare and feeling the skid of his hands along my sides, it wasn’t so hard for him to convince me.

We had no script. Nothing had been agreed upon. Only a few words checked off a list and a few scribbled sentences in the comments section of an almost-forgotten questionnaire from a while ago.

It was enough.

Jack pushed my shirt up and I raised my arms so he could pull it off over my head. He tossed it away and put his hands back on my waist at once. His gaze followed every curve before going to my face.

“Are you sure?” His already deep voice had gone even lower. “I can touch you?”

I took his right hand and slid it upward to just below my breast. We were both breathing hard by now. My nipples felt like iron pegs. Between my legs, my pulse throbbed and thrummed.

He touched me. I drew in a breath that had no trouble becoming a gasp. Jack cupped my breast in his hand and let out a slow hiss of his own breath. We stayed that way for a moment, until he slid his left hand up to do the same. Then he bent his head to brush his lips over the exposed curves. He straightened and looked into my eyes.

“Come to bed,” I said. I turned and didn’t watch to see if he would follow. There was no question that he wouldn’t.

“Take off your shirt,” I said when we got there.

He did. I stared for a second, then reached to touch the silver barbell through his left nipple. It wasn’t exactly in keeping with the image of an honor-society nerd. It was also pretty hot.

Jack’s skin humped into goose bumps at my touch, though I knew he couldn’t be cold. I smiled. My finger traced his nipple, then the other one, and finally right down the center of his chest. I stopped just above his navel.

“Take off your pants.”

His hands went at once to the button and zipper and in moments he’d pushed his pants down to step out of them. He kicked them to the side. Neither of us bothered to look where they landed.

Jack’s black boxer briefs rode low on his hips, exposing a hint of dark hair. The front bulged impressively, but he wasn’t quite hard. Not yet.

“Those, too.” I watched his face.

He was good at this, much better than I, who had to think carefully about my reactions to make them authentic. Emotions drifted across Jack’s face and got trapped in his eyes. Pride. Excitement. A hint of anxiety.

He hooked his thumbs into his waistband, but before he could push them down, I put my hands on his. Remembering, suddenly.

“Wait.”

He gave me a curious look.

“Is there…anything I should know?”

His brow creased. “…No?”

I thought about what Kira had shouted in her drunken assault. I looked at the metal in his eyebrow and nipple. I looked down to the bulge in his briefs. I didn’t want to lose the mood or destroy the illusion, but the thought of being suddenly faced with a cock ring had made my heart pitterpat and not in a good way. A Prince Albert, the barslut had called it. I’d seen a few, but never on someone I was about to have sex with.

I let go of his hands. “Take them off.”

I wasn’t aware I was holding my breath until he stepped out of his briefs and showed me his entire body, nude. No Prince Albert to be found. I let out the air in my lungs with a little squeak. I looked at his face. Confusion had joined the other emotions.

I’d tell him later why I’d hesitated. For now I had some deflowering to do. I stepped back and let my gaze sweep over him.

His cock twitched when I looked there again. I glanced up at his face. “Tell me what you want, Jack.”

“I want to…I want to take your clothes off.” He swallowed and licked his mouth. His eyes gleamed. His cock grew longer and thicker.

“So do it.” He reached for me at once, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Take your time.”

His eager hands slowed at my command. He manipulated the button and zipper of my jeans and slid them over my hips, but didn’t pull down my panties with them. I didn’t warn him about my boots, but he figured it out when the denim slid past my knees and he realized he wouldn’t be able to pull them all the way off without taking my boots off first.

It was perfect, really, the fumbling. Sweet and eager but controlled because I’d ordered it. Jack pulled my boots off one by one, then eased my jeans off, too. On his knees before me, he lifted my feet to peel away my socks. He looked up at me with a grin when I giggled at the tickling touch.

He straightened and his hands went to the mechanism on my bra that any woman can manipulate with one hand but often stumps even the most dexterous of men. He struggled a little more than I thought he had to, but I suffered it because it, too, was perfect in this scene.

When at last he’d unhooked the bra and stepped back to slide the straps down my arms, Jack paused before pulling the lace from my breasts. He took a few shallow breaths, ducking his head. I touched his cheek, turning his face until he looked up at me.

“Take it off.”

He did, fingers trembling with eagerness or anxiety or good acting, I didn’t care which. When the bra fell away, Jack cupped my breasts again. He moved so close I felt the flutter of his lashes on my skin just before he kissed each breast.

I put my hand on his silky hair. When he licked my nipples, I moaned softly. His hands moved down to my hips, hooking into the sides of my panties as he sucked gently on my nipples.

Jack wasn’t the only one trembling with eagerness this time. Together we pushed my panties down as he stood and our mouths met. Our teeth clashed from the force of our kiss but we didn’t stop.