Sarah Mayberry - She's Got It Bad

Her hands were tugging at the bottom of his T-shirt.

“Take this off. I want to touch you,” she said.

She yanked the T-shirt up and he released his grip on her long enough for her to pull it over his head. Then her hands were on him, touching, smoothing, teasing, discovering.

He couldn’t think. Didn’t want to. As her fingers found his nipples, he broke their kiss long enough to pull his keys from his pocket. His hand was shaking so much it was a miracle he got the key in the lock. Then he was kissing her again and backing her up the few stairs and inside the studio toward his bed.

She stopped when the backs of her knees hit the mattress.

“Wait,” she said, and he heard the rustle of clothing and knew she’d tugged off her own T-shirt.

He swore under his breath. She never wore a bra, even though her mom hassled her about it. He’d wanted to touch her, hold her for so long now. Wanted to know what color her nipples were, if they were as sweet and plump as they looked through the fabric of her T-shirts.

“Zoe, I have to see you.”

He flicked the bedside lamp on and she blinked in the sudden light. Her hands came up to cover herself. He reached for them and slowly tugged them away, holding her arms out from her sides.

He sucked in a breath when he saw her, so pink and firm. Her nipples were like little berries, hard already even though he hadn’t touched them yet.

“Zoe,” he said, reaching for her.

She shuddered as he slid his hands up her torso. She felt like warm silk, so smooth and perfect. His palms covered her breasts, his thumbs finding her nipples. She bit her lip as he teased them.

“That feels so good,” she whispered, her eyes half-closed.

She looked beautiful standing there in nothing but her jeans and bare feet, her long dark hair spilling down her back, her cheeks and chest flushed. He ducked his head and kissed her again, his hands teasing all the while. She started to press her pelvis forward and he could feel her heart pounding. He ducked his head and kissed his way down her neck to her chest until he was pulling one hard little nipple into his mouth.

“Oh,” she said. Her body jerked in his arms. Her hands found his head, her fingers burrowing into his hair as she held him at her breast, her breath coming in sharp pants. “So good, Liam, so good,” she whispered over and over.

He pushed her back onto the bed and they fell together. He relished the feel of her beneath him, loving the way she instinctively opened her thighs so that he could press his hardness against the hot heart of her.

They kissed and grabbed at each other for long minutes, hips grinding together through two layers of denim, the friction exquisite but not nearly enough.

He slid a hand over her mound and found the thick seam where her jeans joined at the crotch. He pressed firmly, feeling how hot and steamy she was. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders and her hips lifted.

“Liam,” she said. “Yes.”

He rubbed her some more, and she circled her hips, her eyes closed as she gave herself over to the moment.

He wanted inside her so bad. He slid a hand to the waistband of her jeans, slipped his fingers beneath the fabric. She caught her breath and he felt her belly tense beneath his hand. Then she was widening her legs, encouraging him to keep going. He slid his hand farther, into her soft curls. She stilled as he sent a single finger probing lower.

Man, she was so wet. Hot and slippery and wet. He pressed his hard-on against her thigh as his finger slid between her folds.

“Liam!” she said. “That is…That is unbelievable!”

He grinned at the shocked expression on her face then watched her closely as he slicked a finger over the hard little button hidden between her folds. She shuddered, her breasts rising dramatically as she pulled in a lungful of air.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

He lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth, his finger sliding over and over her, delving deeper, lower with each rotation until, finally, he was at her hot entrance and she was tilting her hips in wordless invitation.

He sucked hard on her nipple as he slid his finger inside her. Slick, hot muscle closed around him, so tight and wet he groaned.

“Take your jeans off. I want to see you. I want to touch you,” Zoe panted.

She drove her fingers into his hair and dragged his head up from her breasts so he was forced to look her in the eye.

“I want you to be my first, Liam. I want to sleep with you,” she said.

His hard-on throbbed at the thought of being inside her, taking what she was so generously, passionately, warmly offering.

He loved her. She was so beautiful. Never more so than right at this moment, with her eyes clouded with desire and her face flushed.

“I want to touch you,” she said again. His hand stilled between her legs as she slid her own hand down his body to where his cock was pressed against her thigh. He closed his eyes as she smoothed her hand along his length, her caress firm through his jeans.

“I don’t care about anything else. I just want you. I’ve always wanted you,” she said.

“I’ve always wanted you,” he said as her fingers found the stud on his jeans. She popped it free and pulled his zipper down. He held his breath as her hand worked its way inside his jeans.

She found him, her fingers encircling him, tentative at first but with more confidence as she felt how hard he was, how much he wanted her.

“How can it be so soft and so hard at the same time?” she asked.

“How can you be so hot and so wet?”

She laughed and smoothed her hand up and down his shaft. He began to move his finger again, slicking over and over her. She dropped her head back and lifted her hips.

“Please, Liam. Please,” she begged.

He didn’t know why he wasn’t tearing her jeans off, why he wasn’t inside her already. This was his every fantasy come true—beautiful, sleek, sweet Zoe in his bed, panting for him, her hands on him, pleading with him to take her. How many times had he lain here in the dark of night, his hand wrapped around his own hardness as he imagined her begging like this, imagined the taste of her, the feel of her?

Too many. Almost every night since he’d moved in with the Fords after his mom died. A whole year.

She made a disgruntled noise when he pulled his hand free from her jeans but she smiled when he popped her jeans open and his fingers found the tab on her zipper.

“Yes. Finally!” she said as he tugged it down.

She was wearing plain white panties with some kind of writing on them. It wasn’t until she was lifting her hips to help him slide them off that he realized what they said.

Friday’s Child Is Loving and Giving.

He stilled, the only sound his harsh breathing as he stared at the words, emblazoned across the plumpness of her mons, the darkness of her pubic hair showing faintly through the thin white cotton.

Loving and giving. That was exactly what Zoe was. She was also smart, brave, stubborn. She could sketch and draw like no one he’d ever known, and she never backed off from a challenge. Never wore skirts, either, or makeup. Knew how to change the starter motor in her father’s old Mini. How to throw a cricket ball and kick a football.

She had no idea how gorgeous she was. How many of the guys at school watched her when she walked past in her jeans and T-shirts with no bra. Her green eyes, the perfect oval of her face, the dimple in her chin. In a few years’ time, she was going to understand how much she was worth, how precious she was.

“Liam,” she said, wiggling her hips impatiently. “Hurry up!”

She was going to regret this moment. After all, who was he? Liam Masters, thick as two planks if his teachers were to be believed. Homeless, parentless. Alone, destined for nothing. Staying here with the Fords was the first lucky break he’d had in his life. He didn’t expect it to last, or to change anything, despite how hard Mrs. Ford was campaigning for him to repeat a year so he could get better marks and apply to university.