I meet his eyes. “This is us. You and me. Nothing else. No pressure. All the time in the world. If you’re not ready, it’s okay.”
I shake my head, and reach for him. “I want to. But I think I’m just so keyed up from anticipation, that I just…”
His eyes go heavy-lidded as I gather him in my hand, for the first time. So much of him, more than I was even expecting, and given the overall size of the man, I was expecting a lot. So hard, but the flesh sheathing his hardness is silken, almost delicate, thin, with a tracery of veins. I look where I’m touching, and watch as my hand slides down his length, and he groans.
“Go easy,” he murmurs. “Been…a while. Might not take as long as I’d like if you do that too much.”
I smile, and keep doing what I want: touching him. “Your rule, remember? No explanations, no apologies.” Both hands, then, because the size of him requires two. “We have all the time in the world. If it’s quick the first time, then we’ll have all night and all day and as long as we want.”
His fingers resume their exploration. “You’re so soft, so wet.”
“Nathan?” I swallow hard, tasting a bold question on my lips. “Could you…would you use your mouth? On me? Please?”
He smiles, a heated, pleased smirk. “I love that you asked.”
“I was kinda scared to. But I need it. If you want to, that is. If you don’t, that’s fine, I just—”
Once again, his mouth on mine silences me. “I want to.”
I close my eyes as his mouth teases downward, kissing my shoulder, my breastbone, licking my nipples to hard peaks, and then kissing downward, over my belly, and I involuntarily draw my stomach in as he touches his lips to my seam. A flick of his tongue, and I gasp, and my feet draw up to the backs of my thighs and my knees angle away, and his tongue delves into me, and then drags luxuriously upward, and then there’s an explosion of sensations all at once, as his tongue and lips find the nadir of my desire and makes my sex sing, and his fingers are everywhere, in me and twisting my nipples and cupping my breast and it’s all so much all at once and I’m crying out, maybe just flat-out crying, sobbing or screaming I don’t even know or care, I’m just a far-flung spark of a mind hurtling through the space of an endless climax.
He keeps me there and refuses to relent, and the waveform of climax dips to a brief trough of between, and then he does something else and I’m riding another crest and his hair is soft on my belly and his beard scratchy against my inner thighs and his tongue is clever and his fingers strong and gentle. I can’t take any more, I’ll explode if there’s more—but there is, and I fling through that as well, and each time I think I’ve reached as far as I can go, that I’ve come as hard as I can come, he finds a way to push me past that edge.
And then I just need him.
I pull at his jaw, tug at his beard, and he ascends my body, wiping his lips with his hands. A million thoughts rifle through my head, but none of them make it past my lips. I roll away from him, to my bedside drawer. Pull out a new, unopened box, hand it to him.
“I guessed at the size,” I whisper. “I thought I was being generous, but I think they may even be too small.”
“Nah. They’re perfect.” He opens the box, pulls one out.
This feels so weird, so foreign. In my previous life, we never used these. And again, that’s as close to that line of thought as I can go. Just that this, too, is uniquely ours, Nathan’s and mine.
I watch him rip open the square foil packet, and my nerves flutter in my throat.
He sets the foil aside, and is about to roll it on; I take it from him. Use my hand on him for a moment, just touching. And then I sheathe him in latex, and there’s a pause, him on his side, me on mine, facing each other, as we silently debate what’s next: whose going on top?
He pulls me to him. Rolls to his back. Yes, this. Our first time should be like this. I look