Elements of Chemistry: Parts 1-3

by Penny Reid

  My legs were unsteady, but I felt the crazy, nonsensical rightness of this moment in each of my nerve endings. I took his hand in mine and placed his palm on my left breast. My heart was beating sure and steady, but deep and hard—like my blood was viscous and my heart was working with effort. Then I covered his heart with my hand.

  “I’m in love with you, Martin. And I’m saying it because I mean it,” I whispered.

  His gaze darted between mine and he blinked with hesitation, like I might disappear if he closed his eyes. Suddenly I was crushed to him, encircled in his strong arms, his mouth on mine, and he was walking me backward with stumbling steps to the bed.

  “I want you,” he said between kisses, my back hitting the mattress as he rose above me.

  “I want you too,” I said.

  “God, I love you. I love you so much.” He trailed a licking, biting, sucking path to the valley between my breasts, then back to my neck, frantic movements that told me he was overcome, wanting all of me at once. I was all waves and spikes of sensation, longing, and wound, taut desire.

  “Say it again,” he demanded.

  “I love you,” I breathed. And then again, this time for myself, because I felt it, “I love you.”

  He growled harshly, his hands tightening on my body in response.

  “Please,” he said, biting my neck, hot breath making me shiver, his hand at my breast, kneading. “Please, I need to be inside you.”

  I tilted my head back, offering him more of my neck. “I thought you didn’t beg.”

  His hand skimmed from my breast to the waist of my shorts, sending a shock of goosebumps in its wake. His fingers pushed into my panties and between my legs, parting me, rubbing a tight circle over my clitoris, and making me cry out.

  “I’m not begging,” he said, entering me with his fingers. “I’m asking nicely.”

  I laughed, but then abruptly sucked in a sharp breath as Martin removed his fingers, grabbed my shorts, and pulled both my pajamas and my underwear down my legs. He took advantage of the moment to also shed his pants then reached over to the nightstand. When he returned I noticed a few things at once.

  He was straddling me, his penis fully erect, entirely recovered, and jutting out from between his legs, not quite resting on my belly. The sliver of moonlight filtered through the underwater portholes, casting his beautiful body in blue-ish white relief. I reached for his sides, gripped him just above his narrow hips, loving the smooth texture of his skin over the hard planes of his muscles.

  Glaring down at me, he brought a foil packet to his teeth and ripped it. My eyes widened at the sight because…sex.

  We were going to have sex.

  I was going to have sex.

  In about two minutes or less I was no longer going to be a virgin.

  Holy crap.

  I wasn’t sure what I thought was going to happen when I told him I loved him, and I wouldn’t take it back because it was true, but immediate post I love you sex hadn’t even entered my mind. According to Martin, one minute I wasn’t ready to administer blow jobs, the next minute I was ready to lose my virginity.

  “Whoa! Wait, wait a minute!” I held my hands up between us.

  Martin didn’t exactly wait, nor did he exactly move forward with the pending deflowering. Rather, his hands stilled right before he rolled the condom over his dick. Then he grabbed my wrists, held them down on the bed at my sides, and loved my breasts with his hot mouth and tongue and teeth.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said between inhibition-demolishing kisses, suckles, and bites. “Do you want me inside you?”

  “Ah,” I breathed as he released one of my wrists and brought his middle finger to my mouth; he dipped it inside. Instinctively I sucked on it, swirling it with my tongue. Then he trailed the wet tip from my chin, between my breasts, over my abdomen, and finally, finally parted my thighs and entered me. His middle finger stroked up and down, circling my center yet never quite touching where I needed.

  “Because I want you, I want you so many ways.” He bit the underside of my breast, making me jump. “Do you want me?”

  I was going to say yes, but what came out instead was a breathy, “I’m on birth control.”

  He stilled. Groaned. His forehead dropped then pressed against my ribs.

  “Fuck me,” he said. Then I sensed him throw the condom to the floor. Sliding up my body to cup my cheek, his voice soft and serious as his eyes searched mine, “I’m clean, I promise. I would never take a chance with you.”

  I nodded and swallowed. I trusted him. I loved him. His body was heavy over mine and I felt less in control than I’d ever felt in my entire life. He must’ve read the fear in my face because he gave me a soft kiss then nuzzled my ear.

  “You want me to eat your sweet pussy first? I’m going to taste you and make you come with my mouth. If you want more of me inside you, then you’ll have to ask nicely.”

  My breathing was coming fast, pants of trepidation and anticipation. I had the fleeting thought that it hardly felt fair, leaving the entire decision to me when I wasn’t the one who was experienced, when I could never be fully informed of what losing my virginity would feel like until after it happened.

  He nipped my bottom lip then moved to explore his way down my body, but I caught his arms before he could go far.

  His eyes came back to me and I knew mine were wide with alarm. “Wait…how bad is it going to hurt? On a scale from one to ten?”

  He gave me a cherishing smirk and smoothed my hair away from my face, his eyes sobering, losing a bit of their haze of desire. “It doesn’t feel great, Parker. There’s a lot of bullshit out there. I’ve never heard of a girl getting off her first time.”

  “But you said you had, and I quote, ‘fucked plenty of virgins…’ end quote. None of them have ever, you know, orgasmed? During their first time?”

  Martin cleared his throat and glanced away, exhaling a little laugh. “You want to talk about other girls right now?”

  “Yes and no. I don’t need to know their names or what color their nail polish was or whether you loved any of them, but I’d like to hear at least some empirical data so I can make an informed decision.”

  “I didn’t love them,” he said suddenly. Frowning, he added, “But no, none of them orgasmed the first time.”

  “And other confounding variables?”

  His frown softened. “Such as?”

  “Were you wearing a condom?”

  “Always.”

  “And did they love you?”

  He hesitated. I could see he was thinking, and then answered with impressive honesty, “Yes. I think one of them did.”

  I bit my lip, my eyes blinking furiously. For some reason that thought made me feel numb.

  He studied me, his fingers absentmindedly playing between my legs, like he couldn’t help himself. I was alternating between aroused, very aroused, very scared, very concerned, and—finally—very aroused.

  Then, on the vein of continuing his impressive honesty, he added, “I’ve never fucked anyone without using a condom. I’ve never thought about anything but protecting myself and getting off, and how good it feels while it’s happening. It felt better if the girl is really into it, but it wasn’t required. I’ve never…made love to anyone, and I’ve never been concerned about the girl’s enjoyment more than mine. But, I swear to God, Kaitlyn,” he licked his lips, his eyes darting between mine, “I want to make this amazing for you. I want you every day for the rest of my life. I don’t want to hurt you, but I do want your body—just like I want your heart and your mind—and I do want to feel you lose control while I’m inside you.”

  I sighed, breathing out some of my fear and inhaling courage. I nodded, pressing my lips together. He kissed me, pressed the tip of his middle finger against my center, then whispered, “I’ll make this so good for you, the next time you’ll get on your knees and beg me for it.”

  I moaned, arching my back, which made him chuckle and place a wet kiss on
my right breast.

  “So beautiful,” he said, trailing more slippery kisses against my skin, sending coiling heat to my core. “So fucking perfect.” He bit my hip. It hurt, but it also felt wonderful.

  He spread my legs wide, placing his large hands on the inside of my thighs and holding me open. He breathed on my center then licked me—hot and soft and slippery. He tongued my opening and slid the tips of his fingers along the inside of my thighs, tickling me and sending a new wave of shivering goosebumps racing over my skin.

  He proceeded to tease me, his touches, lapping, licking, and stroking never enough to push me over the edge, but more than enough to drive me crazy.

  I felt empty and needy.

  So I reached for him, threaded my fingers through his hair to his temples, and said, “Please, please…”

  Martin didn’t ask for clarification.

  He lifted to his knees, his rock-solid, imposing form rising above me. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes were hooded as they surveyed my open legs, my reaching hands, and my skin. I was bare to him. His right eyebrow quirked, just a little, and his smile was more sexy smirk than grin.

  With measured, lithe movements, he stalked up my body, aligning himself at my entrance. I felt the swollen tip of him nudge me as he hovered above, watching me with avid, almost fascinated interest.

  “Please, Martin,” I moaned, my hands on his hips. My belly and pelvis felt aching and hollow. I angled my hips up, sliding against him.

  I saw him shudder and heard him release a low growl. Then, seemingly out of patience, he lowered himself and kissed me—a soft, yielding, searching kiss—and a split second later, while his mouth was still loving mine, he pushed himself into me with one swift thrust.

  I stiffened, a pinching, harsh, acute pain between my legs, and I whimpered.

  “I love you,” he whispered, his eyes holding my shocked, rounded gaze. He withdrew then pushed deeper.

  I felt myself stretch. It was impossible and uncomfortable and I couldn’t breathe. It hurt.

  But each withdrawal was twice or three times as long in duration as his invasions and I was grateful. The slow, sliding movements brought me back to the pleasure he’d built with his mouth and hands.

  Part of me just wanted it to be over, wanted to push him away, make it stop.

  Yet his eyes, so cherishing and concerned, hopeful and reverent, grounded me. Then he dipped his head to my neck, releasing hot breath just under my ear, biting me and loving away the sting.

  Whispered again, “I love you, Kaitlyn. I love you. You’re perfect, and your body is perfect. I love you.”

  Finally, the inward strokes didn’t hurt as much and, though I still felt uncomfortable, I didn’t feel sharp pain.

  With each careful rocking of his pelvis he placed a soft kiss on my face—my chin, my nose, my cheeks—the feather-light touches making me feel loved and utterly cherished.

  I was nowhere near reaching my peak, but curiosity and some instinctual rhythm roused me from my paralysis and had me lifting my hips to meet his.

  His hand pressed into my hip to still my movements.

  “Kaitlyn, don’t do that. If you…fuck, I’m going to…I can’t…”

  I spread my legs wider and flexed my inner muscles, enjoying the fiery—resentment? Warning? Desire?—in his eyes. I responded by narrowing my gaze and undulating my hips quicker, forcing him to match my rhythm.

  “Stop, Parker, you have to… Oh God…”

  Then his thrusts became inelegant and demanding. He became rigid. He grit his teeth and groaned.

  And I watched all this, how he completely and totally lost control, with a roaring feminine satisfaction that was an excellent runner-up to an actual orgasm.

  His body fell into mine like more than just gravity pulled him downward. He fit his hand between my back and the bed and embraced me, his breathing labored. I didn’t mind the temporary, crushing weight of him or the slickness of his heated body. Being surrounded on every side by Martin was perhaps the best feeling of all time.

  He lifted his head, his gaze searching and serious. He slipped one of his hands from beneath me, pushed his fingers through my hair and cupped my cheek.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, giving myself a moment to be thoughtful about the matter, then said, “Yes. I’m just fine.”

  His gaze turned dark. “You’re just fine?”

  I nodded and patted him on the back. “You did good, Martin. It was painful. I’m not going to lie. But I’m not at all traumatized.”

  He stared at me for a beat, looking equal parts offended and amused. When he spoke, however, his tone was laced with demanding determination.

  “We’re not leaving this boat until you have multiple orgasms on my dick.”

  I felt my forehead wrinkle as my eyebrows pushed upward. “Multiple? Is that even possible? I’m pretty sure I read that was a myth.”

  “Parker…” He dipped his head to my neck, nibbled my earlobe, making me shrug my shoulder reflexively and shiver with delight.

  He continued on a whisper, “If multiple orgasms are a myth, then you can call me Hercules.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Multiple Bonds

  The sky was overcast when Martin woke me up with kisses and bites on my shoulders. He insisted we go for a swim right then just in case it started to thunder or rain.

  I later found this was also a slick kind of strategy because he jumped into the ocean naked.

  I did not.

  I dressed in the string bikini, daintily dipped my toes in, and then climbed down the ladder at the back of the boat. Martin eyed me over the gentle waves for about ten seconds while he treaded water. Then he lunged at me, chased me, caught me, easily discarded my bikini, and proceeded to feel me up.

  We didn’t make it as far as the bed. Instead, both of us feeling an irrational sense of urgency, we attacked each other in the water, then on the ladder leading to the deck, then on the deck. He pulled me down to his lap, straddling him, as he sat on the cushioned bench at the end of the stern. My breathing and movements were frantic, erratic, and when I came down on him we both cursed.

  I’m not going to lie, it still hurt at first. But something about being naked under the sky, sticky and wet with sea water, learning each other, seeing the love and lust in his eyes, lubricated all the right spots. He guided my hips until I found a natural rhythm.

  But I was distracted by the soreness between my legs and how my breasts bounced and swayed as I moved, until Martin leaned back on one elbow, his thumb moving to my apex, his eyes devouring me, and growled his appreciation. “This, you, here, now—hell, Kaitlyn. This is it, this is everything.”

  I did my best, but I wasn’t proficient in the art of man-riding. I knew I was driving him crazy because he’d closed his eyes, obviously trying to hold off for as long as possible, his brow wrinkled into a severe frown of concentration which I would forever think of as the don’t come don’t come oh God, don’t come face.

  I’d been close for a while, but I was frustrated with my body’s lack of accelerative progress. It was starting to feel nice, but I wasn’t going to climax. Therefore I leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t worry about me.”

  His eyes flew open and he stared at me with a ferocious kind of challenge. “What the hell does that mean?”

  I lifted myself up then came back down, enjoying the sexiness of the act but somehow resigned that this time was going to be another miss.

  He must’ve seen something in my eyes he didn’t like, because before I could explain my meaning, he surprised me by standing, picking me up with him, and carrying me to the table.

  “Lay down,” he commanded.

  I did.

  He pulled out, spread my legs wide, knelt on the ground, and proceeded to have me for breakfast. It didn’t take long before I was near spiraling, my lower belly tight with the promise of sweet, torturous relief. My hands gripping the edge of the table.

  And I
started chanting, “Oh God, oh God, oh God!”

  And I came.

  But then before I’d quite crested the wave, Martin stood and filled me, his thumb still circling my clitoris mercilessly in rhythm with his thrusts. And I came again—harder, better, faster, stronger—the rhythm of my blood thundering between my ears. The soreness between my legs adding a layer of exquisite pain to our combined pleasure…intensifying it. My mind was lost to everything except the sweet, overwhelming searing sensation.

  I think I actually screamed, or yelled, or yodeled. I don’t know what I did, but my throat hurt from the effort afterward. I hoped it wasn’t a yodel…

  He came a very short time later, looking overwrought, confused, and spent. Again he fell forward like a force other than gravity brought our bodies together. But this time he held himself up with bent arms and kissed my neck, chest, and shoulders hungrily.

  My nerve endings felt fried so I let him play with my body, lick my skin, nip my nipples, and tongue my belly button as he slipped from me. His breathing returned to baseline after three or more minutes.

  Then he said against my right ribs, “I love you. You’re the most beautiful thing…so perfect.”

  I huffed a laugh, my hands reaching for, finding, then playing with the damp hair on his head. “I’m not perfect, but I’m glad you think so.”

  He brought himself back over me, so we were face to face, his gaze both curious and irritated. “Why do you do that? Why do you shrug off compliments? You are fucking goddamn gorgeous, Parker. You. Are. And you are a fucking goddamn musical prodigy. The fact you’re not making music every day is criminal.”

  I gave him a sideways look and a small smile, wanting to choose my words carefully because he looked like he was considering some method of torture in order to push me into admitting my amazingness.

  “I love that you think so, Martin.”

  “Kaitlyn—” His tone held more than an edge of warning.

  “No, listen.” I framed his face with my hands and lifted my head to rub my nose against his. I left a soft kiss on his lips and said, “I am glad you think I am all those things, and I believe you. But I’m not going to magically think I’m beautiful or perfect or talented just because you do. I have to get there for myself. I have to believe those things for myself—not because I have a boyfriend who values me and thinks I invented airplane neck pillows. If I base my self-worth on someone else’s opinion or view of me, then I will also base my lack of worth on that person’s opinion as well. And that has the potential of tearing me to pieces.”