Making Up

by Hunting, Helena

  “I have plenty of experience with a synthetic penis. I’ve just never had a real one inside me. And Bartholomew isn’t as girthy or long as you, so I figured you might need some warning.”

  “Bartholomew?” I have the sudden urge to hunt this guy down and knock his teeth out.

  “My vibrator.”

  “You named your vibrator?”

  “He’s been around for years, and he never lets me down. I figured he deserved one.” She picks up the foil square, which I apparently dropped.

  “Whoa. Wait.” I snatch it back from her. “I think we need to talk about this.”

  “We just did. I told you I was a virgin, and now you get to go where no real, human penis has gone before.”

  “Cosy.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do in this situation. Do I want to have sex with Cosy? Damn right. But taking someone’s virginity is a big deal. And I probably don’t deserve to have hers. No, not probably. I definitely don’t deserve it, but hell if I don’t want it to be mine.

  “Your penis looks like he’s ready to be in me. “ She catches the bead of wetness at the tip with the end of her finger and brings it to her mouth.

  “For fuck’s sake.” It’s more groan than words. I clear my throat. “Your first time should be special, with someone you love.” What am I even saying?

  She rolls her eyes. “Seriously. How old were you the first time you had sex?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “And you’re trying to tell me you were in love? Was it in the back seat of your dad’s SUV?”

  “No, it was in a bed, and we’d been dating since freshman year.”

  “Well, that’s sweet, but that was puppy love at best. I had a boyfriend for a year in high school, but he ended up dumping me because he graduated a year before me and didn’t want to be tied down while he was in college screwing anything with a pulse and a vagina. By the time I got to college, I wasn’t interested in giving it up to some douche who was going to fumble his way through five minutes of lackluster sex where I definitely wouldn’t be having a orgasm. Do you need me to tell you I love you to feel better about popping my cherry? It’s pretty damn obvious you want to.” She motions to my still-hard cock, which I’m choking like I’m trying to kill it.

  She shifts so she’s kneeling in front of me. “Please don’t say no, Griffin. We’ve had an amazing day, everything about it has been perfect, and so far we’ve had an amazing night. First times are supposed to be memorable. I want mine to be memorable because it was good, not because it sucked. Considering the number of orgasms I’ve already had, I’m pretty confident sex with you isn’t going to suck, so I think you need to get over it and conquer me like you know you want to.”

  She doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she plucks the condom from between my fingers and tears it open.

  “Wait.” I cover her hand with mine.

  “This is mine to give, Griffin, and I want you to take it.”

  Every single primal male urge to do exactly what she’s said—conquer, take, claim—stampedes over any logical argument. I want what she’s offering me, and she has a point, my first time was good for me, but I’m guessing it wasn’t awesome for my girlfriend at the time since we were both pretty clueless. Besides that, if I turn her down, she’s not going to want to stay. There won’t be a dinner or more dates. I won’t see her again if I say no. Then some douche asshole in his mid-twenties is going to take what could’ve been mine.

  I cup her cheek in my palm and kiss her. “I promise it’ll be memorable in the best way possible.”

  “I’m counting on you, so don’t let me down.” She plucks the latex ring from the foil and winks. “But no pressure.”

  I laugh, but suck in a breath when she pinches the tip between her fingers and places it at the head. “Like this?” She looks up at me, eyes wide and searching.

  I shouldn’t be this excited. But I’m still totally happy to burn in hell for this. “Exactly like that.”

  She rolls it down the shaft then wipes her hand on the comforter, which makes me smile. Cosy curves her palm around the back of my neck and tugs gently, bringing our mouths together. “Come claim my V-card.”

  I half laugh and half groan as she lies back and pulls me with her. I brace myself on my forearms. “Maybe I should use my fingers again?”

  “Stop stalling, Griffin.” She drags a foot up the outside of my thigh and reaches between us with her free hand to grasp my erection.

  I cover her hand with mine, moving it out of the way, and drop my hips, settling between her thighs. “Stop rushing, Cosy.”

  I kiss her, hyperaware of the way she feels under me, how languid she is, the way she arches and shifts, seeking more contact. I don’t want to rush through this. The last first I took was when I lost my own. I had no idea what I was doing then, no clue how to make it a good experience for my partner, but time and experience changes a lot, especially perspective.

  I keep rolling my hips, and Cosy’s legs tighten around my waist. Little moans hum across my lips, and her nails dig into my shoulders. I break the kiss and push up on my forearm so I can see her.

  I skim the edge of her jaw. Her lips are full and pink from all the nibbling, and her eyes are hazy with lust. “You’re beautiful.”

  “So are you, but in a super masculine while still boyishly handsome kind of way. I think you’re still stalling, FYI.”

  I reach between us and use the head of my erection to circle her clit. “I need you to tell me if it doesn’t feel good.”

  “Obviously.”

  “You’re sure you want this?”

  “Definitely.” She nods and drags her tongue along her bottom lip.

  “If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say the word.” I circle one more time and ease lower, glancing down between us.

  “Griffin.”

  My head snaps back up. “Yeah.”

  “This isn’t a calculus test. It’s sex. Stop being so serious and have some fun with me.” She runs her fingers through my hair, a soft smile on her lips.

  I mirror it and stroke her cheek with my thumb while I line myself up with her entrance. “I’m about to go where no man has gone before.”

  “Except for Bartholomew.”

  “Bart better hope he never meets me or I’m giving him a one-way ticket to a dumpster.”

  Cosy laughs and then sucks in a breath as I push inside.

  I pause. “More or wait?”

  “More. I want it all,” she whispers.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll give you everything.”

  Chapter Seven: Holy Awesome

  Cosy

  The banter ceases as Griffin sinks into me, and that slightly stretched sensation becomes really stretched and extremely full. His eyes stay on mine, cataloguing my reaction like I’m doing to him.

  Griffin is a lot. I know this based on the porn I’m exposed to, the fake peens I sell to people, and common sense. A lot, but not too much.

  His expression is fiercely intense, lips slightly parted, breath leaving him on a low groan. It’s actually pretty fascinating. Emotions flicker across his face, and I track each one as they pass: lust, guilt, need, worry, desire, fear, hesitation, and then finally an oddly frenetic peacefulness as his hips meet mine.

  At twenty-two, I’ve had my fair share of boyfriends, most of them short-term apart from the one in high school, so my sexual experiences include everything apart from the actual act. And anal, because no thanks to that.

  I assumed sex would be a lot like using a vibrator but attached to a real human. I assumed incorrectly.

  This is way, way different. I get the fascination now. Why people crave it. How people could become addicted to it. I’m not painfully full, but I’m full nonetheless. Of Griffin. He’s everywhere, body flush with mine, although he’s holding himself above me. His warm breath washes over my face with each exhalation.

  I’m boxed in by his arms, dominated and protected at th
e same time. He strokes along my jaw and curves his palm around the back of my neck. It’s actually rather impressive considering how bulky he is and how easy it seems for him to bear all of his weight on one forearm. This level of intimacy is almost unnerving. So much so that I want to look away, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes from him. He’s just so damn beautiful.

  After what feels like an entire decade has passed, but in reality is likely only a handful of seconds, he dips down to brush his lips over mine. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, instead, he pulls back. “How do you feel?”

  “Full of you.”

  His brow furrows, and he starts to lift his hips. “Am I too much?”

  “You’re exactly enough.” I clamp my knees against his sides and hook my feet behind his back. Then I decide I should probably stroke his ego. “Well, maybe you’re a little too much, but it’s a good too much.”

  He chuckles and sinks back into me, rolling his hips. The movement is like a shower of sparks lighting me up from the inside.

  “You tell me what feels good, okay?”

  “This does, what you’re doing right now. I like that a lot.” I run my hands up his arms and over his shoulders.

  “Let me know when you love it.”

  He keeps grinding against me, and those sparks turn into flames that lick up my spine. It’s like I can feel him everywhere, and I want him deeper, closer, more. It takes me a good minute or two of adjusting to the newness of it all before it finally occurs to me that just because I’m under him doesn’t mean I don’t have any control.

  I shift, changing the angle, and suddenly he’s hitting the spot. The one that makes magic happen. I’m pretty sure my eyes want to pop out of my skull. “Oh, God.”

  Griffin’s lips curve into a satisfied smirk, and he starts moving faster, his strokes get longer, deeper, and every single damn thrust hits the freaking spot. I feel like I could reach out and touch heaven as I spiral up, up, up.

  Tendrils of heat track their way over my body, my scalp tingles, along with every other part of me. My nails dig into Griffin’s shoulders, and no matter what, I can’t seem to make my body obey the command to loosen my grip. I call out his name, for what purpose I’m not entirely sure. I think I want to ask for something. An orgasm maybe? But I don’t know what I need to make that happen.

  I’m teetering on the edge, closing in on bliss. “I’m almost there,” I moan.

  “Come on, baby, chase it.” Griffin shifts, and his hot palm eases down my thigh, thumb hooking into the crook of my knee. He opens me wider and pushes my knee toward my chest. “That orgasm you’re fighting for belongs to me.”

  And there it is. That statement, which is entirely too true, combined with his next hard thrust, makes white-hot lust explode between my thighs.

  I groan an expletive, followed by a declaration that I’m coming—as if it wasn’t obvious. My body isn’t mine to command anymore. Griffin owns me so completely in this moment. I’m overwhelmed entirely, sensation blanketing out everything else. I’m floating and drowning, flying and falling.

  It’s pure, undiluted euphoria. I come until the solar system magically appears behind my eyelids, complete with shooting stars. Griffin keeps pumping, moving faster even as his rhythm falters. I force my eyes open, and I’m very, very glad I do.

  Because he’s astonishingly magnificent.

  His entire body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, which would be unpleasant under other circumstances, but currently is really freaking hot. His eyes are heavy-lidded and trained on my face, his jaw locked, and his lip curled in what almost seems to be a silent snarl of satisfaction.

  He pushes in one last time, and his body goes rigid and still, a low groan falling from his lips. It’s pretty damn glorious.

  He drops down, still bearing most of his weight, but his lips find my throat, and he breathes hard against my skin for a few long seconds. I run my fingers through his hair, sated, but somehow still needy.

  As I lie there, basking in the aftermath of a kick-ass orgasm and what I believe is probably epic loss-of-virginity sex, I can see how easy it would be to mistake this lust and connection for something more. I can also see how easy it would be to find myself falling for this man, and for the briefest moment, I regret this decision. Not because I believe I should have waited for love, but because there is no future to envision that extends beyond the next couple of months.

  So as I breathe in Griffin’s salty skin and memorize everything about this moment, I also seal my heart away. I can’t risk falling for someone temporary. I can enjoy this time with him. He can be a fairy-tale chapter in my life.

  He presses a kiss against the side of my neck and peppers gentle ones along the edge of my jaw until he reaches my mouth. I fully expect a peck on the lips and him to roll off me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses me, long and languorous, until I’m both languid and wanting it all over again.

  Of course, my stomach has to be an asshole and ruin the moment by rumbling. Loudly.

  Griffin pushes up on his forearms with a smile. “Hi.”

  “Hey.”

  Now that all the intensity seems to have dissipated I feel . . . vulnerable. I need to do something to make it less awkward. So I start clapping, because that makes it so much better.

  “Well done. You should win some kind of virginity-taking award for that performance.”

  His smile falters, and his gaze shifts away. I don’t like it. I’m ruining my own first time by being an immature idiot.

  I place a warm, slightly sweaty palm on his equally warm, slightly sweaty cheek, urging him to look at me. I need to fix this. “That was amazing. Since I don’t have anything to compare it to, I have no idea if sex is always supposed to be like a fireworks show inside my body, but that was hands down the best orgasm I’ve ever had. I’m actually worried that you’ve ruined me for life with that. I mean, how in the world are you going to top that next time?”

  That brings his smile back; actually it’s more of a smirk. “You’re already looking for a next time?”

  “Um . . . did you miss the part about it being the best orgasm ever? I’d like more of those whenever you’re ready to provide them. Although maybe you need some recovery time?”

  “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready.”

  My stomach growls again in protest. My vagina shoots it the middle finger.

  “Or maybe orgasms should be on the dessert menu.” He glances at the clock on the nightstand. “We can still make our dinner reservations if you’re interested in going out, otherwise we can order in.”

  “I vote we order in.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Let me get the room service menu.” He sits back on his knees. He’s still between my legs—and still sort of inside me.

  I prop myself on an elbow, so I can watch him ease out. It leaves an odd, empty feeling behind. There’s a vague throb between my thighs. Not painful, just this strange longing that doesn’t make sense since I don’t think my vagina can actually experience longing at all.

  He appears to be about half hard, so the condom is wrinkly and the tip sags under the weight of its liquid contents.

  I flick the end as he slides the condom off, perversely fascinated. “Look at all those swimmers. Poor guys don’t even realize the sole purpose of their existence has been thwarted, and now they’re going to suffocate in a plastic bag.”

  Griffin snorts a laugh. “That’s a disturbing observation.”

  “Yet very accurate.” My legs are still spread wide, all of me on display. I close them, not necessarily because I’m feeling suddenly shy. If anything, I’m riding the high of the sex and feeling pretty damn good about myself. I don’t necessarily feel any different, just relaxed, but not. Content, but restless.

  Griffin disappears inside the bathroom to dispose of the condom. I consider getting dressed, but my casual clothes are sweaty and dirty, and the only other thing I brought was a dress. Not very practical for ordering in. Maybe he has a shirt I can borrow.


  I roll off the bed and wander across to what I’m assuming is his closet. I debate whether I should wait for him to come out of the bathroom before I go snooping around, but it’s not like I’m going through personal files, or a purse, or a dresser or anything. It’s just where he likely hangs his suits. Maybe I can rock one of his button-downs. That would be sexy.

  I open the closet, expecting to find a whole bunch of suits. Which I do. What I don’t expect to find are women’s clothes. Dresses to be exact. Plural. And shoes. Heels. Three pairs of the ones with the red soles.

  “Oh my God.” I slap a palm over my mouth. I think I’m going to hurl.

  I just gave my virginity to a cheater.

  Chapter Eight: Overreaction. Or Maybe not.

  Cosy

  I pick up one of the shoes—the heels could definitely work as a murder weapon—and spin around as the bathroom door opens. Griffin’s all fucking smiles and nakedness, hair smoothed out, looking refreshed and totally at peace with the fact that he’s a lying sack of shit.

  “You bastard!” I hurl the shoe at him and am highly impressed when he has to dodge it to avoid getting hit in the face. It bounces off his shoulder and lands on the floor.

  “What the fuck, Cosy?”

  “Don’t you what-the-fuck me, you cheating cheater who cheats!” I wish I were less naked right now. I flail toward the flashy dresses in the closet and latch onto a clutch hanging from a hook. The strap gives way—it’s made of gold chain—and I heave it at him. “You’re a disgusting bag of assholes.”

  He manages to catch the clutch before it can connect with him, which is annoying. I don’t know if I’m going to be sick or cry. Maybe both. I need to find my clothes and get out of here.

  He glances from the closet to me and back again, eyes flaring. “Wait, Cosy, you need to let me explain.”

  “Explain what, exactly? That you’re cheating on whoever owns these dresses? I let you inside me!” I’m totally freaking out. I think I have a right. I’m going to punch my sister in the face for this. Okay, maybe just the boob, but she’s getting punched for suggesting I give it up for this asshole.