by Kayti McGee
“What do you want right now?” I ask.
“My reward. My reward.”
I lift her legs over my shoulders, drag my erection back and forth on the thin fabric of her panties. She lets out a small whimper.
“It’s yours, Marlee,” I pant out, moving a hand down to press my thumb against her. “Anything you want is yours.”
And as she comes, I allow myself the faintest spark of hope that what she wants is me.
I look into her eyes but all I see is confidence and curiosity, satisfaction and desire. She keeps that very bendy leg on my shoulder and wraps the other around my waist. She bites her lip then palms me through my pants. She strokes me a few times and then squeezes gently.
“I don’t know that I’ll ever get sick of seeing this,” she says. I fucking hope she doesn’t. It’s my cue to undress, so I take it, reluctantly removing her leg before pulling the shirt off my head and the skirt off her.
I almost take her shirt off too, but then I decide that a Ryder Die shirt is exactly what she should have on tonight, and instead just push it up and over her gorgeous tits.
Her dusky nipples look inviting and so I leave my pants on as I take my time tonguing each one. As I lick in little swirls it reminds me of what I haven’t done yet. If eating Marlee’s pussy doesn’t pave the way for what happens next, it will still remain my all-time favorite dessert. No sub-category needed.
Her body arches into me and then away as I kiss down her sternum to her belly button.
Her alternating curves and muscles feel so good in my hands as I rub them from her hips toward the crest of her shoulder and down again. Her body is a study in opposites that I could spend my life researching. My hands slide onto her lower back, pulling her closer.
Kissing the fabric of her underwear makes her squeal a little, which is fun, but it’s just not nearly enough for either one of us. I pull the thong down and she kicks it off as I breathe hotly onto her nakedness, wishing that I was the kind of artist who could capture sight as well as sound. Her body shivers and she calls out my name.
In her mouth, it sounds different than when anyone else says it.
I spend a few moments just looking at her up close. She doesn’t seem to mind as long as I keep letting my thumb play over her clit and kissing the soft places all around where she needs me most. She smells like her usual jasmine green tea, yes, but also something more. Something unique to Marlee. Some pheromone made just for me.
Her fingers curl into my hair and it’s time to show her that I’m the teacher because I have mastered this skill-set. I kiss her gently once more before flattening my tongue and making her scream for the first time. I could spend all day here devouring her. Her hips lift towards me and both hands dive into my hair. With my lips wrapped around her clit, I hum a few bars of the song we recorded today and then swirl my tongue.
Her breath quickens and I press my tongue down harder, feel her bucking against my lips. Her sweet taste in my mouth and her sweet voice in my ears is all I need to die a happy man.
I slide one finger inside her impossibly tight channel. My mouth is focused on her little bundle of nerves, and I barely manage to get a second finger in before stopping to let her adjust. She throws her head back, moves her hands out of my hair and grips the mattress but I don’t want to rush this.
She’s starting to make those sounds, starting with whimpers, communicating that urgent incessant need.
I want her to come but I feel like I need to spend a little more time getting her ready for my cock so I slow way down, despite her disappointed moan. I pull away from her clit to gently move my fingers in and out, against each other. I’m getting good reactions, she’s liking this feeling, so I make a decision I probably won’t repeat.
Just this once, I won’t make her come with my mouth before I fuck her. Just this first time, the need for her to be relaxed and happy is outweighed by my desire not to hurt her. And if she comes again right now, she’ll tighten up, won’t be as desperate to fill that empty place my fingers are slowly leaving.
A few more slow licks, and I move up to lay on my back next to her as I try and work my pants off the slab of marble my cock has become without injuring myself. When I glance over, Marlee looks disheveled and so happy. Once she realizes it might take me a minute to finish the undressing process, she makes a cooing sound.
“Listen, you take your time there, I just need to…” and then she runs her fingers down my abs like she is the guitarist of the two of us. Oh, and wouldn’t I love to teach her that too.
“Talk about a washboard. God, I’ve waited long enough to enjoy this view up close. You know how I hate waiting.” That last bit is pointed, and I know it’s time to quit stalling, or coddling her, or trying to decide if there’s a difference.
I climb over her and send up a quick prayer to any available sex gods that I don’t fuck this up. The condoms are ready and waiting on her bedside table, and even though I’m sure a lesson in unrolling them is needed at some point, I want it on as quickly as possible so I do it myself. Finally, I lower my body on top of her and the sensation of so much of my skin against hers makes us both gasp.
I’ve never been into the casual sex my brothers like, but I’ve had plenty with the women I’ve dated. Yet somehow, I’m discovering each of these sensations anew right along with Marlee.
Her breasts press into my chest and I imagine our heartbeats are synced.
I wrap my arms around her tightly and relive the concern of my own first time again. Because there is a very good possibility I won’t last thirty seconds in her, and that would seriously ruin everything from the event to my chances of ever impressing her.
“Oh, Jake,” she whispers and I feel that pressure in my chest again at the sound.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
“Yes,” she gasps. “I want you inside me. This feels crazy.”
Just to make extra sure she’s wet enough, I reach down between us and massage my fingers in slow circles, up at her pleasure center, down and inside to prepare her. Again. Again. I’m practically salivating at the grip her inner muscles have on my fingers, knowing that any second now that will also be a sensation my cock will feel, but I’m also keeping focus. When I judge that there is no possible way she could be more ready for me, I brace my arms on either side of her and lean down for one last kiss. Her very last moment as a virgin.
I’d kiss her through it, but I want her to be able to look at me, into my eyes, to see that my intentions are pure and that I’ll be watching to respond to her slightest concern.
“Please,” she says. “I’m ready.”
Those stupid-long legs of hers are back around me, heels digging in and urging me towards the goal, so I line myself up in exactly the right spot, and
Here
We
Go
Oh
God.
There aren’t words to describe joining my body with the woman I love, the one I’ve wanted for so long. Only prayers. Only poetry. Only the exact noises that we’re both making, cries of pleasure and whimpers of pain and our harmony, at the end, at the absolute wonderment of it all.
Chapter Twelve
Marlee
The moment before he entered me feels anchored in time. It’s one of those little amber-mosquitoes from Jurassic Park, suspending and preserving a moment forever. Everything else about the room was quiet and still, even the light coming in from the street had a golden hue. It was positively cinematic. His arms wrapped around me and I wanted them tighter. His last kiss for luck would have felt unnecessary to most guys, but from him it was the removal of my very last worry, so I was able to enjoy every single second of my very first time.
In retrospect, maybe I should have mentioned to him that most dancers, by my age, don’t actually have hymens, but the look on his face! He went from the screwed-up expression of a man about to inflict unwanted torture to the dawning understanding that he hadn’t broken me and that I was having as good a time as him an
d it was priceless.
If it hadn’t been so deeply touching, I would have actually laughed.
But really, it reaffirmed why I love him. As a friend, of course. A hot friend with the body of David and the cock of Goliath. A hot friend who I actually think would take a bullet for me but wouldn’t be allowed to cause I’d take it for him first.
If you think this sounds like conflicted feelings about what friendship is once that sex door is opened, you’re goddamn right.
Which is why, once I wake up a few hours later with these thoughts stomping through my head like some kind of aggressive step-dance, I choose to ignore them, and instead kiss Jake awake too.
For round two.
The kissing doesn’t last all that long, comparatively. His lips start roaming soon enough, and now that the initial act is over, he doesn’t have to spend nearly as much time on the foreplay. Because for one, my nerves aren’t keeping me from getting as wet as I should. And for another, knowing exactly what’s about to happen means I get twice as wet in antici—pation.
Finally, I really understand what the good doctor Frank-N-Furter meant when he smirk-sang that line. Only a true sex fiend would pick up on the subtle nuances, and I am officially among those ranks now.
There’s nothing subtle, though, about Jake sliding his hands under my ass and gripping it like he means it. I feel him draw back and then his head is at my entrance. Now that I’m prepared, it’s not so passive, my response. I open my legs wider, move my hips up to meet him.
“Marlee,” he moans as he sinks into me, his face lowering into my neck. It feels like this fullness completes the puzzle of us and for a moment he doesn’t move, just holds me tightly against him. I feel my walls pulse around him like I’m trying to draw him in deeper and I feel his dick twitch in response. I love his weight on me, this tether to the here-and-now even as my mind is floating around in Transylvania.
“Are you okay?” he whispers in my ear and then pops his head up to look in my eyes, like my voice isn’t enough, he has to be sure. I feel like I can look as deeply into his eyes as his body is in me.
“I’m more than fine,” I say, and then, feisty, I hold him still by his waist as I slide up and down from below. “But I want more.”
“Overachiever,” he smiles, and rolls us over so fast I’m slightly concerned I should have spotted like I would performing a pirouette. “But mad respect to your learning pace. It’s quite accelerated.”
That word takes me right back, echoes of the past surrounding me like some kind of movie flashback. Respect. I’d given it to my earliest Madames at the barre because I was fucking terrified of them, and later because I understood how astoundingly much they knew about ballet and the body and how to train the second for the first.
Respect. I’d earned it as an upstart older student when being ten was considered practically geriatric for a beginner. Then I’d carried that foundational knowledge into as many other styles as I could find teachers for.
Respect. For other students, it’s usually earned by fucking people over rather than by working hard. Respect. By the time I was eighteen and then nineteen and then twenty and finally of drinking age, I’d gradually lost the respect of all my cutthroat peers just for being so naïve.
“Johnathan,” I’d come to him a hundred times. “My virginity is actually-factually ruining my life. Can we just do it even one time so that I can be a real person again in their eyes and not the psycho-celibate who’s obviously gunning for their roles?”
“I respect you,” he had said. That wasn’t even a lie, just the next line. “We have our whole life to be having sex with each other.”
Point is, I’m thinking about respect differently after coming so many times I lost count.
“Four,” Jake reminds me as he wraps his arms tighter.
“Potentially five,” I add dreamily. “There was one moment where I could have passed out, and things got a little fuzzy. It felt amazing but I guess when they tell you in elementary school don’t lock your knees during the Christmas concert that’s a rule that should live with you.”
“Okay, but that was partially my fault for deciding we should do it standing up. But you are most certainly not comparing what we do to holy songs sung by children ever again.” Jake has a point. It doesn’t stop me from cracking up. Ugh, my abs hurt.
“Hey!” I exclaim again. “Sex is a workout, that isn’t just a cute thing people say!”
I’d never completely believed them, but here we are, full of orgasms and lactic acid.
I can’t get over his body and even as he looks at me with a look of mock exasperation, my hands are all over his ripped torso. His muscles have so many ridges and contours I expect him to be memorialized in a topographical map of some sort.
I wonder if I could commission one.
There are moments when I forget that he’s the same boy whose pin-ups I used to tape inside my locker. Moments like when we’re running together and both of us feel like complete misery at mile ten but push through by insulting each other’s poor undeserving moms. Moments like us drunk on pink shit and ranking every single American Horror Story monster in terms of bangability.
And then there’s moments like this, when I’m staring at the gorgeous, familiar face I’ve been staring at since middle school, and I think to myself that being a grownup is literally exactly what I thought it would be when I was thirteen.
When I could maybe use all this adrenaline to climb up the H of the Hollywood sign and scream to the world that I am fucking Jake Ryder.
This is the point where every romance novel typically gets criticized. Men are not traditionally multi-orgasmic in real life. But it turns out that my childhood crush turned bestie turned ravisher is an actual porn star.
So instead I climb on him, enjoying how hard this six-pack is even as the skin is silk and smooth, the combination melting me into a puddle of desire. It’s his turn to grip my hips and hold me while his body rises higher. I experiment with different motions, clockwise and counter, figuring out all this on-top shit. He smiles at me as he draws back slowly and then thrusts in again. I sink down to nibble at his ear, charmed to discover that it makes him shudder. The more he finds a rhythm, the more my body responds until it feels like we are dancing again, moving as a unit.
“I can’t believe this,” I say because I can’t believe how good this feels. I slide my hands down to his lower back and under his ass as he thrusts into me. His body quivers from my touch and for a moment he pumps harder.
“Me either,” he responds, but I’m not sure if he means fucking me, because I’m positive he’s had a million girls and he never really seems all that into me when I ask him for reassurance, or if he means that I just said one thing without babbling on. I mean, I am also disbelieving that just happened. Holding me still, I feel him pull out, and it feels like he is drawing out forever, like part of me will leave with him and then he thrusts back in with a grunt.
“Cool?” He smiles and draws out again slowly. I nod, press my hands on his perfect chest and enjoy the ride of a lifetime.
Who knew Jake would be better than an Aston Martin?
The orgasms he gave me felt amazing and it felt like we were working together then but this feels different. I think I always thought sex was something that would just kind of happen and I could check that box off. But this isn’t about completing an item on the life list at all. It’s every bit as miraculous as all the books warned me. The thought of letting it happen with someone who doesn’t really care about me is starting to feel like a colossal turn-off.
And he warned me about that, too.
Am I an idiot, or is there still a way to stop what I’ve started?
He pushes his body into me and I brace my thighs on either side of him as he thrusts. There’s slickness between our bodies and I feel him grinding his teeth. My mouth is up near his ear because I know that he’ll want to hear me when I come. I plan for that, but the act itself takes me by surprise when he finds what I can
only assume is my g-spot, based on my fictional experiences.
I always sort of thought that bit was a lie, too. But no, because I’m crying out in a tone I don’t recognize and my head may have actually popped off in this crescendo of pleasure.
His turn, now, to thrust into my still-pulsing pussy harder and harder until I hear his breath catch in his throat and his belly tighten against mine. I’m exhausted but I rock my hips with him, wanting to draw him into me. And as he nears his release I start to feel like I might come again too, just for the sake of this feeling of utter completion. He pulls me close as he cries out and I push him into me, clit grinding into his base, and come for what feels like the hundredth time with him, our voices in harmony all over again.
Maybe it’s Jake that’s been the sex god all along.
But I am real happy to be his fiend.
I finally collapse on top of him, and hug him tighter. For the moment, my arrangement is gone and there’s just us as I imagined we would be together when I was little, when I believed in happy endings. To be fair, I didn’t know that phrase had a different connotation at the time.
We spend a few minutes just breathing together, him still inside me. It’s not an urgent revelation now, this fullness, just something right. I feel him doze for a moment and then shake awake. It’s kind of cute and I can’t help but think about what it would be like to see him wake up in the morning.
Even as normal friends and no more, we always went to our own rooms. Okay, he deserves some blame too in the idiot department. If he had known how good this would be, I’m dead-ass sure he’d have offered earlier.
Would have saved me the embarrassment of asking.
“This was altogether decent,” I say, borrowing a page from his understatement book and running my fingertips along his lashes, admiring how thick and dark they are. I’d never get the extensions if mine looked like this. He smiles and burrows his face into my neck, nips my skin playfully. He leans up on to his arm and watches me as my fingertips wander along his cheekbones and lips.