by KD Robichaux
Jason, there’s nothing you need to protect me from when it comes to you. You’re amazing, and sweet, even if you do try to come off as a dick. You can pretend to be this big tough bad boy, but I see through it.
That’s where you’re wrong. You have it backwards. I am the bad guy. You just have a way of making me want to be…different.
I look over at him again, gazing at his profile as the lights from the TV play across his face. He’s so incredibly sexy. I can tell he’s aware I’m staring at him, taking in every one of his features, but he doesn’t fidget or say anything; he just lets me have my fill, completely comfortable with being admired. This is confidence, much different than the cockiness he always likes to portray, and it turns me on that he doesn’t try to distract me or interrupt my perusal. I could just stare at him for hours, at those amazing dark chocolate brown eyes surrounded by the thick, long eyelashes, or the perfectly shaped mouth I’ve been dying to kiss since the second I met him.
In the end, it’s me who ends the game of chicken, breaking my view to take a deep breath, drawing on his confidence, trying to steal some for myself so I can type him out another message, something I’m scared to death to ask him. Fuck it.
I want you to try.
My hand is shaking as I place the phone in his, and my heart is pounding hard in my chest as I watch him look from the TV down to the cell, then his finger hit the button to close out the text. When he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, I’m confused, and then mortified as my eyes follow him as he leaves the room.
What have I done? Oh, my God, I shouldn’t have told him that. Maybe I can lie. Maybe I can tell him I meant I want him to try to be the good guy I believe he is. I know it would never work though. He always knows when I’m lying, always knows when I’m hiding something. What do I do? Where did he go? Should I leave?
As all these questions run through my mind on repeat, I’m about to get out of the bed when Jason reenters his room, shutting his door behind him.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I stutter, suddenly very, very nervous.
“I went to make sure the house was locked up,” he explains as he makes his way over to the other side of the room, reaching up to pull the string on the blinds to make them lower all the way to the bottom of the window.
“Oh, well…do you want me to go? Are you ready for bed? I know it’s getting late, so I’ll head home,” I ramble, leaning over the side of the bed to find my shoes. I grab and line them up to stick my feet in them, but as soon as I stand up, Jason’s only inches from me. I hadn’t even heard him move from the window because my heart is beating so loudly. I gasp in surprise at seeing his dark features up so close, stumbling back a step.
He reaches his hand out to steady me, his tattooed bicep flexing with the movement. God, what I’d do to feel those arms wrapped around me.
“Say it.”
His words startle me, and my eyes lift from his arm to his almost-black irises. “What?”
“Say it, babe. I read the words, and I know exactly what they mean, but I want to hear you say it,” he says in that delicious drawl.
“I…I…” Jesus, I’m a nervous wreck. I can’t make the words come out. It’s a mix of embarrassment that it’s never happened before, fear of him rejecting me or not being good enough for him, with a hint of excitement thrown in to add to the adrenaline pumping through my system at not only the proposition we’ve presented each other, but the fact his grip on me is burning my skin, setting the rest of me on fire.
“And not only do I want to hear you say it, I want to hear you beg.”
My heart has never pounded so hard or fast in my life. I feel like I might hyperventilate. My breaths are coming in short, quick bursts, and I have to make a decision before I pass out from the fight or flight instinct taking over my body. Do I stay and fight my fear, suck up the anxiety and just put it all out there what I want him to do, facing it all head-on, or do I run? Stay and potentially embarrass the shit out of myself, or go back home and wonder what could have happened here tonight had I stayed?
I close my eyes for a moment, allowing the heat of his strong grip to soothe me, consciously taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to calm my nerves enough to give him my response.
Opening my eyes and looking into his, my voice comes out shaky but sure. “I want you. I want you to try to make me c-come.” The last word is stuttered, but only from having to speak my wishes out loud, which I’ve never had to do before.
“You’ve said it now, but before you actually get it,” he closes the space between us, making my entire body feel like it just went up in flames, “I’m gonna make you beg me to let you come. I won’t just get you there; I’ll make you have to hold it off until you plead.”
His confidence is intoxicating. He seems to truly believe he can give me what no other man has been able to. He knows the truth. He knows that no guy has ever been able to make me orgasm. He’s the only person I’ve ever told my secret to, and now that this is happening, he’ll be paying close attention. He sees straight through my lies and embellishments. He’d know it in a heartbeat if I were to fake it. Plus, I’ve promised myself I never would again. Not only does he believe he can get me there, but he thinks he can control my body to listen to his demands. I want to believe him. I want to give myself over to his sureness and let him take care of me. He truly thinks he can do it, so by all means, I won’t do anything to hinder him.
“Okay,” I breathe, and as soon as the word is expelled from my lips, his are crashing down on mine with such force, it knocks me back a step, but then my prayer is answered, and those hard, sculpted, inked-up arms wrap all the way around me. I’m surrounded by him as he consumes me, those almost-femininely shaped lips feeling nothing but pure male as they work against mine, which open to him as he presses his tongue into my mouth.
I let out a long, relieved groan as the mystery is finally solved. He tastes just as sexy as I imagined, if not more. The mix of cigarettes, Shiner Bock, and Jason come together to be a delicious concoction that instantly makes my panties flood with arousal. All I’m breathing in is the scent of his heady cologne that still affects me like a drug or a spell, making my body roll against him like a cat wanting to be petted, begging for more.
I’ve never been kissed with such ferocity before, like he can’t get enough of me, the same way I feel about him.
I can’t tell if I’m actually moving or if I’m just mentally floating until my back makes contact with the wall next to Jason’s bed. I’m pinned between it and his solid body, barricaded in by his rock-hard biceps, cocooning me in until I am aware of nothing but him. His denim-clad knee moves between my bare legs, and he presses his thigh upward until he rubs against my white linen shorts-covered center, making me whimper as his tongue thrusts against my own. He’s devouring me, making my heart pound with both excitement and maybe a little bit of fear at his intensity.
There is nothing tentative about his touch, nothing like the normal first time of being with a new lover. He doesn’t bother gauging my reactions with cautious caresses. He knows just what to do to send me reeling, and he doesn’t worry about asking permission to do it. He is in complete control of my body, playing it like a savant, already aware I would never tell him no. I give myself over to him, putting my trust into his capable hands, believing he’ll do what he says he will and make me feel the way I’ve never felt before, feel the things I’ve never felt before.
His hands leave where they were pressed on either side of my head against the wall, and they come to rest at my throat. My heart thuds with alarm for a second, never having been touched in such a dominant way before, until the gentle stroke of his thumbs along my jaw soothes it away. The stroke moves lower, tickling down my neck, over my collarbone, separating to travel around the outsides of my breasts, sending a shiver up my spine, making me moan into his mouth.
My skin breaks out in gooseflesh and his caress move down my sides until he finally stops to grip the b
ottom of my pink V-neck t-shirt. Somehow, even in the hypnotic state he’s put me in, my self-consciousness breaks through. My hands land on his, gripping them tightly to keep him from pulling my shirt up. I usually keep my top on, which guys don’t seem to care when I let them skip over second base and head straight to third.
He stops kissing me, and I move forward to retrieve the connection we lost, but he stands up to his full height, bringing his knee out from between my thighs. I feel cold from the sudden distance.
“Let go,” Jason demands.
“I…I just want to keep it on,” I tell him, not able to meet his eyes.
“Let…go.” His tone leaves no room for disobedience, and I lighten my grip on his fisted hands. “Good girl, now put your hands above your head and don’t move them.”
“Jason, I—” Panic clogs my throat for a moment before I squeak out, “Can we turn off the TV so it’s not so bright in here?” I look around his body and nod toward his television set, which now just shows the menu screen of the DVD we’d been watching.
When my eyes meet his, he must see how completely terrified I am, because in a softer voice he tells me, “I want to see you. There is nothing about you I don’t find perfect.”
My natural reaction to shake the uncomfortable feeling quaking through me is to make a joke. “Up until about ten minutes ago, you had me believing you only like thick girls. There is nothing about me that Jason would find perfect.”
He doesn’t find my joke funny. He doesn’t laugh or even smile. Instead, he leans into me so close I instinctively turn my head to the side, and whispers into my ear, “It’s your long legs I think about wrapping around me when I jack myself off every night. It’s your small but beautiful cherry-topped tits I imagine sucking on—the perfect mouthful—as I come all over my hand. Let go of my hands, put yours above your head, and don’t…move.”
Taking tiny breaths in and out, I keep my face turned away as I do as he commands, removing my grip from his once again and then slowly placing them above my head, resting them against the wall. He lifts my top until his palms connect with my waistline, and it feels like I’m being branded. His touch burns my flesh, and as he slides upward, dragging my shirt along with it, I don’t feel the cold chill of embarrassment I had been dreading. He blazes a trail up over the band of my pretty light-grey lace racer-back bra, and his touch is so searing that even when he glides his fingertips over my armpits to work the soft cotton the rest of the way up my arms, it doesn’t tickle. I don’t even flinch. He’s melted me to the wall.
He doesn’t pull my shirt all the way off, instead leaving it around my wrists to give me something to grip onto. I clutch it like a lifeline as he caresses his way back down the path he just scorched until he rests his hands on my ribcage. He keeps them there as his lips find mine again. And I don’t realize he’s done this purposely to help me grow acclimated to his touch until I’m squirming, trying to get him to move them closer to their eventual targets. It’s not until a whimpered, “Please,” passes through my lips that he finally gives me what my passive aggressive body had been begging him for.
His rough fingertips glide across my skin until they meet in the middle, directly in the center just below my rapidly pounding heart, between my breasts. With a practiced movement, he pulls the clasp away from my body and the sides in opposite directions, unhooking the front closure of my racer back bra.
As the squeezing pressure of the elastic around my lungs releases, so do the butterflies that had been confined to my chest, allowing them to fly south into my belly, and much lower places as well.
Touch me.
The cups of my pretty lace bra just dangle beside my uncovered chest.
Touch me, I plead to him telepathically.
I feel so exposed. He’s not close enough. His lips are still working magic against my own, but I’m well aware of what is happening from my neck down.
Nothing.
No other part of him is touching me, and it’s making me absolutely mad.
Touchmetouchmetouchmetouchme. TOUCH ME!
I can’t take it anymore.
Something inside me snaps.
I lunge.
My small frame wraps around the solid wall of muscle in front of me, my much smaller body connecting with his at full-force, not making him budge an inch. But as he feels me finally set myself free, bringing our bodies flush with each other, he leans forward and slams my back into the wall with a growl that sounds like a mix of both relief and ferocity.
He rips his mouth from mine and I gasp for breath. Aggravated, I work my shirt from around my wrists and throw it to the ground, and as he kisses a path to my ear, he groans, “So fucking sexy.”
At his words, I turn wild trying to get the goddamn bra off my shoulders. I arch my back to get it from around me between my back and the wall, which presses me further into him, making him curse into the side of my neck. He grinds his hips into me, and I’m now coherent enough without his distracting kiss to feel his thick, rock-hard erection through his jeans.
His arm wraps all the way around my hips as he lifts me, and my arms automatically lock around his shoulders as me carries me to his bed. When we reach it, he spins us until it’s my back that lands on the mattress as he comes down on top of me. I don’t have time to think before his scruff-covered face nuzzles the soft skin of my breasts, and then he does something no guy has ever done before—he worships them.
“So soft.” He traces the slight under-curve below my nipple with his tongue, his breath giving me goose bumps and instantly hardening the tips. “Smell so good.” He gently runs his nose down the center between my small mounds before scraping his whiskers across the delicate flesh. “Want to eat you.” The difference in textures, the sound of his deep drawl, and the actual words he’s saying is building something in my core. I’m not even conscious my hips are grinding against him until he says, “I bet you’re so fucking wet for me right now,” and then finally takes one of my nipples into his mouth and brings up a hand to massage my other breast.
I don’t know what one would call the sounds escaping me as he devours me, making me come unglued. Long gone is the nervous feeling that had threatened to ruin everything only minutes before. Even as his hand starts to make its way down my ribs, over my butterfly-filled stomach, to the hook and zipper of my white linen shorts, I feel nothing but need as I help him work them over my hips and down my legs until I can kick them all the way off.
I lie underneath him in nothing but my light grey lace panties that had matched my bra. I reach for the hem of his shirt, and he allows me to pull it up his muscular torso. He then sits up on his knees to pull it over his head.
Oh, dear Jesus.
More of his perfect flesh, than I’ve ever seen at one time, greets me. Rippled muscles, smooth, tan skin, a light dusting of chest hair, tattoos everywhere. That’s all I have time to take in before he lowers his dark head once more and kisses a trail from my sternum down until he comes to the top of my panties.
“Everything about you is so girly, pretty, and perfect…right down to your lacy underwear,” he tells me, and I can’t make out whether he’s making fun of me or what until he adds, “I’ve always wanted a girl like you.”
My heart swells from the sweet words, and it dances a giddy rhythm as he begins to slide my panties ever so slowly over my hips. I look down and my eyes lock with his; our mutual stare never falters as we hold our breaths as the lace leaves the tips of my toes. Finally, he breaks his gaze, and I can almost feel it as his eyes skim down my entire body until they come to rest at the apex of my thighs.
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus, I am a hygiene Nazi. At least I know when it comes to that part of myself, I have nothing to worry about. And when he lets out a muffled groan, I know he greatly appreciates it too.
Just like he did between my breasts, he runs the tip of his nose over my bare mound and I can feel the cool air shift as he inhales. I shiver as his hot breath hits me when he whispers, “So fucking p
erfect.” He takes his knee and separates my legs, making room for the rest of his muscular frame to lie between them.
He doesn’t even give me a moment to second guess anything. The next thing I feel is the long, purposeful slide of his tongue from the very bottom of my pussy to the hood of my clit, and I immediately shudder with the pure perfection of that first intimate lick. And when I hear him moan against me, “Even better than my fantasy,” before repeating the glided path of his hot, wet mouth, my eyes roll back and my hands clutch his sheets.
His tongue takes a slow perusal of my most secret place, dancing the tip from side to side from the very top all the way down to my perineum, even taking a moment to tease between the outer and inner lips. I can feel every slight movement he makes, everything more hypersensitive than it’s ever felt before. When he moves his hand from where it was gripping my thigh to wrap around my leg and then uses his thumb to pull the thin hood from my clit, my toes curl, and I hold my breath, waiting for what I know is going to be the most intense feeling I’ve ever had.
But it doesn’t come. He waits, holding me open; I can feel his hot breath on my sensitive skin, but the contact never comes. I’m still holding my breath and every muscle in my body is tense, and when that scary feeling of lack of oxygen finally hits and I empty my lungs with a loud whoosh, that is when he finally places those magical plump lips around my clit and sucks me into his mouth.
“Oh, dear fuck,” I half-groan, half-scream, rolling my hips up to get even closer to his face. He locks his strong arms around my thighs and holds me still, forcing me to take what he’s giving me, not allowing me to move away when it starts becoming overwhelming. He switches between long licks with the flat of his tongue and sucking on the bundle of nerves, not allowing me time to focus long enough on one sensation. It’s both incredibly arousing and highly aggravating, but I’m so out of my mind with pleasure that it takes me a moment to realize there’s a stirring deep, way deep in my belly that I’ve never felt before, not even by myself.