more.
My feet dangle above the ground as he carries me deeper into the room.
The backs of my legs hit the card table and he sets me on top, not realizing my weight will throw it off balance. It’s made to hold five pounds, tops. One of the legs creaks and then gives out. I go crashing to the floor right along with it and I’m laughing so hard, tears gather in my eyes.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, trying hard to fight off his own laughter.
He lifts me back up and kisses the smile off my face.
“My butt hurts,” I groan.
He reaches down under the guise of soothing it, but his touch is hot, needy. He fists my dress and tugs it up. My hips roll against his jeans and I feel how hard he is. I can’t do it any longer. Twenty-five years of going without is too damn long.
“Please please please tell me you have a condom.”
“I grabbed one when I went to my house earlier.”
“Oh my god, yes.” I nearly say I love you jokingly, but I stifle the urge—mostly because at this point, it’s not a joke.
It’s so fitting that my first time will be on an old dingy futon. I don’t want calm, quiet sex on a perfectly made bed with a lamp on across the room for soothing ambient light. In here, we’re a mess. The gold lamp gets knocked over as I tug Ben toward the futon. It clatters to the ground right along with the card table, and I’m not fully convinced the rickety excuse for a couch-slash-bed will make it through this either.
There’s a good chance we’ll end up on the floor. I’ll be picking shag carpet fibers out of my hair for days.
“Let’s slow down,” Ben says, yanking my sweater dress over my head and throwing it across the room. In the process, he nearly dislocates my shoulder.
I shudder and nod. “Yes, jeez, let’s take a breath and relax.” Then I yank his shirt apart and one of the buttons flies off and pings against the wall.
We’re not very good at heeding our own advice.
My hands tug impatiently on the zipper of his jeans. It’s only halfway down when I give up and yank the denim down with all the strength I’ve got. He kicks them the rest of the way off and in the process of removing his pants, I nearly took off his briefs too. The tight black material hangs low on his hips. More of him is exposed than ever before, the hard edges of his abdominal muscles pulling tight with each inhale he takes. I’m crouching down in front of him before I fully realize what I’m initiating.
I want to see him. God, I just need him in my hands, and the groan that slips past my lips is only half as lust-filled as it should be. I tug his briefs down his legs and my eyes go wide. Without a thought, I reach out to grip his hard length and run my hand up and down it. Ben bucks his hips forward. I grow courageous and empowered. I do it twice more, pumping, fisting, bringing my mouth closer but not quite touching him there…yet. My lips are a whisper against him.
“Madison,” he says, his voice full of longing.
He seems big, but then I don’t really have much to compare him to. All I know is that when I look at it from this angle, I’m not totally sure how he’s going to fit. The thought sends a spiral of panic through me, but I brush it aside. This is natural, meant to be. It will fit. Hopefully.
I lean forward and drag my tongue across the tip and he fists my hair, a little nonverbal plea for more. I oblige, taking him in my mouth and sucking deep. How did we get here? How did our night turn from innocent construction to clothes-shredding passion?
I take him deeper and suck again and again. I want him so wound up, coiled tight, tight, tight like a spring. My name passes through his lips again and it’s more ragged than the first time, desperate, depraved.
I will keep going until he gives in, until his hips thrust uncontrolled and he releases everything. Before this moment, I’d have turned my nose up at the idea. Now, I don’t want to waste a single drop.
I can feel him at the back of my throat and my breaths come shallow, pained. This is