by KD Robichaux
I concentrate all of my attention on the feeling, locking in on it like a heat-seeking missile. My breath comes out in sharp pants, and when he finally stops switching between the different movements of his talented mouth and steadily focuses fast, direct swipes of his tongue against my clit over and over, that feeling builds and then snaps, and stars explode behind my eyelids. My body implodes, curling in on itself, my legs drawing up, my top half folding forward, and my hands go to his buzzed head.
I’m not aware that every curse word in the English language leaves me as I spasm. All I’m conscious of is Jason’s continuous torture of my oversensitive clit. His arms lock even more firmly around my hips as I try to get away from him, and when I realize I won’t be able to escape his grasp, I take a deep breath and try to calm myself, forcing myself to give into the sensation instead of fighting it.
When he feels me relaxing back into his touch, he lets go of my left leg with his right arm and brings it underneath him, and that’s when he fills my pussy with two fingers, gliding in easily, thoroughly soaked from his wet mouth and my own arousal. I bite my bottom lip and moan, enjoying what I didn’t know was exactly what my body craved.
But soon, it’s not enough. I need more, and not just his fingers. My hips working against his hand and his mouth, I reach down to his shoulders and try to push him away. When that doesn’t work, I lift my top half off the bed and reach under his arms, tugging him. Of course I don’t move him an inch, but he gets what I’m asking and allows me to pull him up my body.
He kisses a wet path from my bare mound, across my hips, up my stomach, stopping at my chest to pay homage to each breast, across my collarbones, up my neck, and by the time he reaches my lips, almost all of the dampness that had been on the lower part of his face has been wiped clean. Only a slight hint of my scent still lingers as he presses his lips to mine, giving me the slowest and sweetest kiss I’ve ever received in my life.
He still has his jeans on. The rough fabric rubs against the soft skin of my inner thighs. I reach down and begin unbuckling his belt, and then unbutton and unzip the fly. He kisses across my jawline and then buries his face in my neck, where I feel him breathe me in. I smile, remembering I put this perfume on specifically because I know he likes it. And I feel his hot breath hiss out against my throat as I finally reach into the front of his pants and grasp him through his underwear.
Dear Jesus. No way. There’s no way that’s going to fit. Are you kidding me? It’s like all the cock God forgot to give Gavin, he put as extra on Jason’s. The thought makes a giggle bubble up from my chest and erupt from my mouth. I feel Jason freeze above me, and he slowly pulls his face from my neck as he hovers over me, looking down into my face with a questioning look.
“That is not the sound a guy wants to hear when a girl reaches into his pants and grabs his cock for the first time,” he says quietly, one side of his mouth quirking.
I press my lips together, pulling them into my mouth and bite down on them, trying to hold in the laughter that wants desperately to escape. He lifts an eyebrow at me, and I shake my head quickly, closing my eyes as my body starts to quiver from keeping myself from laughing.
“Babe,” he says, and I open my eyes. “Da fuck are you thinking about, woman?”
The image of a bearded man wearing white robes with a baker’s hat and an apron on up in the clouds making penis-shaped cookies fills my head, and I absolutely lose it. I let go of his huge dick and cover my mouth, letting out the laughter I had been trying to keep clamped down. When tears start to roll down the sides of my face and into my hair, I look up at him and wheeze out, “I’m sorry! But there is no fucking way that’s going to fit!”
He slightly sags with relief, his head hanging loose for a moment before he looks up at me with a breathtaking grin. “Fuck, you can’t do that to a man,” he growls, and then reaches across the bed to pull open his bedside table’s drawer, pulling out a condom.
“Oh, um. About that. Um…well, you see. Uh. I’m allergic to condoms,” I stutter out. “I mean regular ones. If…if I had known there ever even was a chance in hell this could happen, I would have bought a pack of the non-latex kind I have to use, but um…yeah. I didn’t think you uh…wanted me.”
“What would happen if I use this?” he asks, holding up the condom between two fingers.
“Um, well…I’d sorta…swell shut. And then you’d have to give me a big dose of Benedryl,” I confess, embarrassed.
He slumps with disappointment, and I suddenly want to cry for having to tell him no. “I’m sorry, Jason,” I say, my voice trembling.
His head jerks up and he looks into my eyes, seeing the tears filling them, but no longer the kind from laughter. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Don’t cry, baby,” he whispers, leaning down and kissing me. He reaches his hand up to cup my face as he deepens the kiss, and suddenly I’m not thinking about God making penis cookies or my latex allergy anymore.
Throwing caution to the wind, I whisper, “I’m on birth control,” and I feel him pause. I press my head into the pillow to pull away from his face enough to see his expression, and I see the thought process cross his every feature. He knows I would never lie to him, and he knows I’m not the type of person who would offer this up to just anyone.
“I’m clean. I just went to the doctor—”
“Two weeks ago, I know. I remember when you told the guys. It came back all clear,” I interrupt his reassurance.
“You sure?” he asks.
“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything,” I tell him.
And that’s the end of all conversation. He devours my mouth in an earth-tilting kiss, making me groan in the back of my throat. I reach down and shove his jeans and underwear down his hips and as far down his muscular thighs as I can stretch without having to disrupt our kiss. Then pulling my legs up to hook my big toes in the waistbands, I tug them the rest of the way down his legs as I straighten mine. He chuckles against my mouth, and says, “Now that’s talent,” before I feel him kick the last of his clothing the rest of the way off.
It’s then that it hits me. Jason Robichaux is making love to me. The man I’ve been secretly pining over for the past three months, the one who makes my heart race every time he walks into the room, the one who always takes care of me and comes to my rescue, subtly letting me know how he really felt about me, but I was too clueless to realize it—yeah, that one. It’s a dream come true.
The passion I feel for this man consumes me, and my body starts to move against him in a way that is purely instinct, beckoning him to make me feel whole. I feel him reach between us as he aligns the head of his thick cock with my entrance, and I unconsciously tense, bracing myself for the pain I’m sure will soon come. He leans his whiskered face over to my ear, his hot breath soothing me as he whispers, “Relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”
He uses his hand to move himself up and down my slit, coating himself with my plentiful wetness. Barely dipping the tip in before moving out and up to tease my clit with the velvety head, he coaxes me to loosen my muscles so the next time he dips inside, he slides slightly farther in, making me gasp with pleasure. “That’s it. Let me in,” he murmurs, taking my earlobe between his teeth and sending me into an all-over body shudder.
All tension leaves my body, and Jason times it perfectly, using my slight distraction to plunge the rest of the way inside me. It takes my breath, leaving my lungs empty but the rest of me feeling fuller than I’ve ever been before. There is no pain, just the feeling of being consumed, overtaken, surrounded, and filled up by the intoxicating man above me.
And then he sits up and begins to move. Long smooth strokes in and out as he sets a rhythm I know will take me places I’ve never been. I’m still sensitive from the orgasm he gave me with his mouth, the first orgasm I’ve ever been given by another person, and the realization that I will always know he was the one to give it to me starts that funny feeling deep in my belly once again. I look down at where our body is joined a
s he pumps in and out of me, and then my gaze slides up the tattooed rippling muscles of his torso and then over to his drool-worthy biceps, the muscles flexing as he holds his weight up on braced arms. I slide my hands up his forearms, over those bulging biceps, across his rock-hard shoulders, and graze my fingers up the back of his neck and into his buzzed hair. I pull him down to my lips and say against them, “I feel it.”
He knows exactly what I mean, because he lets out an almost feral sound as he slams his mouth down on mine and starts pumping into me, his hips pistoning, rolling on the upward stroke so his length caresses the magical place at the top of my inner wall, and then arching his back as he pulls back out to drag the head of his cock against it. It’s creating wave after wave of sensations, making my entire body feel flushed and chilled all at once.
He sinks down onto his left elbow and trails the fingers of his right hand down my neck until he reaches my left nipple, pinching and plucking it between his thumb and middle finger until I’m whimpering, and then he dips his head to soothe it with a swipe of his tongue. His hand continues lower until he slides it around to my back, going further still until he cups my ass, squeezing roughly, all the while pumping into me, keeping up that infallible pace. He hikes my leg up farther, bringing my knee up to where it rest almost at his armpit, locking it in place between his strong arm and his solid torso as he grinds his hips.
My breath starts its shallow pants once again, and before I know I’m even close to the edge, I’m taking a running leap, base jumping off the cliff. I take in a lungful of breath and prepare to break glass with the shriek that wants to escape me, but it’s cut off as he catches it with his mouth, stealing it with his delicious kiss as he continues his relentless thrusts. My pussy tightens around his cock, milking him as my muscles ripple around him. I’ve never felt anything like it before, and all I can do is dig my fingers into his biceps and hold on for dear life as the sensation takes over my whole body.
And then I’m being moved. I feel him carefully slide out of me before he begins maneuvering me. He sits back on his haunches before sitting me up and turning me over on my stomach. He keeps my legs together before lying down on top of me, entering me inch by slow, torturous inch from behind. When he’s fully seated inside, stretching me and touching me in places I didn’t realize I had, he uses his hand to pull my hair back away from my face and behind my ear so he can whisper into it, “Now cross your legs.”
My brow furrows. I’ve never even heard of this position before, and I’ve read a lot of damn romances, and not to mention every issue of Cosmo for the past five years, but when I do what he said and cross my legs at the calves, he moves above me and it sends me spinning, and when he slides his hand underneath my stomach, and then farther down until he can circle my clit with his fingers, I cry out with the overwhelming sensation that wracks my body, making me writhe against him, pressing my ass back into him.
A few seconds more and I’m screaming into his pillow as he loses all control. He uses a knee to separate my legs, grabs hold of my hips and pulls me up until I’m on all fours, and then he slams into me, driving into me with ruthless thrusts, his balls slapping my clit and his front beating my ass with every plunge, ripping another orgasm from me and making me collapse down on my elbows as he keeps hold of my lower half.
The ripples last forever, until finally, after one…two…three last slow, purposeful thrusts, he growls as he comes, filling me with his hot, shooting seed, and then his forehead hits the middle of my back as he folds himself around me. His panting breath, his sweat-glazed skin touches every inch of me, cocooning me as I come down from the rollercoaster ride we just experienced together.
A few moments later, he slips out of me carefully, and I’m grateful for his gentleness because after what he just put my body through, I’m sore in places I’ve never been sore before. I barely have the strength to unfold my legs and stretch them out behind me, lying down on my stomach as I feel him move off the bed. He opens his bedroom door and I watch him pad across the hall, giving me the perfect view of his fantastic ass. I’ve never really admired a man’s butt before, but damn. Dat ass.
He disappears into his bathroom, and after hearing water run for a few minutes, he returns with a warm, wet washcloth, which he uses to softly press against my tender center. I’m in awe as he cleans me up, especially as he leans down to press a sweet kiss there when he’s finished. And just like that, my infatuated crush on him turns into something so much more.
I’m in love with Jason Robichaux.
Kayla’s Chick Rant & Book Blog
Blog Post 4/9/2005
It’s been three weeks since that very first time of making love with Jason. Three weeks I’ve been going to see him nearly every day, mostly cuddling up in his room, watching movies, vegging out, and ending the night with one last cigarette in his driveway, where he gives me a hug goodbye and tells me to drive safe.
He’s taught me so many things in that bedroom, things I didn’t know about my own body. Ever since that first time, we’ve had to be extra careful though. His parents came home from their trip, so we’ve had to be quiet and time our trysts after we know they’re in bed asleep at the other end of the house.
It’s been amazing. The best three weeks of my life.
And yet…
Y’all tell me what you think in the comments below. I’d love to hear what you think.
After we’ve made love and it’s time for me to make the drive home, Jason seems…shuttered? Closed off a little? I don’t really know how to explain it. Maybe I’m making it up in my head, just being a silly, paranoid girl, but it’s almost every single night he does this. After getting redressed and heading out to his driveway, we sit on the cement and lean up against the closed garage door as we share our ‘after-nooky cigarette’ as we call it. It’s mostly quiet; we don’t really speak much during this time, and instead of being the comfortable silences we share during the day, it’s kind of awkward.
When we first hooked up, his parents weren’t there, so he had me stay the night with him, holding me through the entire night. But then, the first time we did it after they came back, I tried to give him a kiss goodbye by my car, and he ended it quickly, giving me just a swift peck before sending me on my way. At first, I chalked it up to him being tired. It was about three in the morning, after all. Maybe he was in a hurry to get to sleep.
But now, three weeks into this…relationship?...and it happens every single night we see each other. Oh! Also, while we’re sitting there, I try to make plans to see him again, a simple, “Do you want to hang out tomorrow?” And he never, NEVER gives me a straight answer. It’s always, “We’ll see,” or, “Let me see what I’ve got going on.” I mean, he always ends up calling me the next day and telling me to come over, but why won’t he just make it a plan? A date?
A date. Speaking of dates, he’s taking me on our first real one tonight. When I asked him the night before last if he wanted to do anything this weekend, he gave me a “I’ll let you know,” gave me my normal hug—not kiss—and then closed my car door behind me. But then I received his call this morning, telling me he has something special planned for me and to dress up. This is new territory for us. I’ve been trying not to let myself get my hopes up, but I can’t help the thoughts that float through my head like, Is he going to ask me to be his girlfriend? or Does he want to let other people know we’re seeing each other?
From an outsider’s perspective, you’d never know we’re sleeping together. During the day, around his parents and Adam, and even Gavin a time or two, who was pissed at first that I was hanging out with “his” people, but got over it when Jason ripped him a new one while I hid a beaming grin, we just look like a guy and a girl who are really close friends. Best friends, even. Jason and I had spoken briefly before his parents got home, in between making love in his bed and a ferocious romp on his bathroom counter, where he spoke delicious and dirty things in my ear as he forced me to watch us in the mirror… Le sigh…
What was I saying? Oh, yeah, we spoke briefly before his parents came home, and he told me he’d rather not everyone know we were sleeping together. He said he liked how his mom was with me, and that he didn’t want that to change. He was scared that her opinion would change of me if she knew I was having sex with him. It kind of hurt my feelings at first because I thought he meant she’d think I was some kind of slut, but he corrected me, saying she thinks lowly of people who sleep with him. Period.
This stunned me. Mrs. Robichaux shows nothing but love toward her son. Yes, sometimes it’s a tough-love approach, which he’s definitely deserved in the past from the stories I’ve heard, like when they kicked him out of the house and he had to live in a van in the Baybrook Mall parking lot, but she’s never anything but loving. From what I’ve gathered in what little he’s let me in on, he’s gone to therapy since we was little for various issues. He chalks it up to abandonment issues from being put up for adoption, but with a family like the Robichauxs, I can’t help but think it’s something else.
Does she know about his sexual past? About his involvement with the stripper, or the swingers’ club? Is that why he thinks she’d look at me differently? Would she think I’m into all that stuff? She’s a great lady with a wild sense of humor and can have a potty mouth at times, but she’s also a devout Christian, goes to church every Sunday, bible study, in all sorts of groups in her church, and volunteers for every event they hold.
So when I began asking myself these things, I could see why he wouldn’t want me to let his parents in on the fact we were seeing each other as more than friends. I wouldn’t want her to associate me with something she would most definitely find dirty. It just hurts my heart that Jason feels this way. If he’s feeling even a fraction for me what I’m feeling for him, it’s sad to think he believes he can’t share it with his mom.