Which sounds so ridiculous and rude all at the same time that I think I flush. I know my cunt does. And that same bright spread of pleasure goes through me, when he sort of glances down at himself as though to check if I’m right, before giving in to that bristling embarrassment he so often wears all over him.
‘Oh …’ he says. ‘Well …’
As though it’s something to be ashamed of, to be so completely turned-on. I wish I could explain to him how much I enjoy that – such a sweet guy, being a complete slave to his desires and his hormones.
But instead I just have to go with, ‘Get the condoms out of the drawer next to you.’
That pulls his attention back. Enough to say the hottest words ever invented, at least.
‘Don’t you want me to lick you, first?’
Ah, Gabe.
‘I want you to be really wet.’
Lord, Gabe.
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
With your gigantic glorious cock, Gabe.
‘I think I’m good to go,’ I say, though he still looks unsure, as he fumbles for the rubbers. And then less so, when I wriggle my knickers down my legs. He watches me spread out beside him, while I watch him. Of course he knows what he’s doing, but it’s still a tense fight between rubber and dick. I don’t think these were made for me, he says, but I think he seems just a little bit smug, too.
And then he turns, and leans down, and kisses me – obviously hungry, but strangely chaste, at the same time.
Oddly, I think of my first boyfriend. Lying like a starfish on his single bed, waiting for him to do it to me. I don’t know what it is about this that reminds me of that, but it seems to be a recurring theme in my head, just the same. Fumblings on narrow mattresses and in the backseats of cars. All of that excitement gone so quickly, and replaced with the dull greyness of reality.
I don’t know what kind of reality this is. I’m breathing hard, and he’s barely touching me. He asks me how I want it, and I can’t say anything. I’m not sure. I think about telling him I want it with him lying face down, but God knows what response that will get.
Instead I spread my legs and he slides over me, slick with perspiration and tense as anything. I think his teeth might be chattering, just a little bit. And when his cock slides through my soaking wet folds – unintentionally, I think – his eyes widen and he jerks back.
‘I should probably make myself come, first, and then …’ he says, but it’s OK because I think I almost come, hearing him say that. I definitely moan aloud when he follows it with a quick hand between my legs, and a moan of his own.
He sounds despairing – he looks despairing. His face goes slack and lust glazed when his fingers get lost in my completely over-excited pussy.
‘You’re so wet,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re so wet and burning hot, God.’
I can’t stop myself bucking up into his probing fingers. Especially when he puts two fingers together, and swipes down over my clit – just once, but once is almost enough. I nearly ask him not to stop, but then I think about his cock sliding back and forth in me, while those same fingers play right where they are now.
I just have to put a hand to the small of his back, and urge him forward.
‘Let me make you come, first,’ he says, so I kiss him to keep him quiet. I don’t think I can stand to hear him say anything else. I just want his mouth on mine and his cock pressing into me and oh holy mother of … I don’t think I’m going to survive this. Not on any level.
He slides just a little way in, and that’s too much. I think he knows it is, too, because he stops being able to kiss me properly, and turns his face to one side. His damp cheek presses against mine, fitfully, and I’m sure I hear him tell me to relax, please relax.
But I don’t need to, I really don’t. He feels big, but not impossible. I guess it only seems impossible to him, because he gasps out, ‘You’re too –’
Then can’t seem to remember what other words he was going to say. Mainly because he sinks all the way in, sudden and lo-o-ong. I see his eyelids flutter and his lips part, and then he’s rocking his hips, just a little. Just experimentally.
His hair has fallen over his forehead, but he doesn’t stroke it back. Instead he drops down so that he’s just propped up on his elbows, and brings his hands to my face. Strokes a thumb over an eyebrow, too soft and too much.
I slide myself back and forth, back and forth – nice and quick – before he can say anything. And after that, I’m pretty sure he forgets. He jerks forward in what seems like an instinctive sort of way when I rock into him, and then when my legs are hooked over his hips, he just has to test the waters further.
He gets this little jerky, shallow rhythm going – one that makes that flush on his cheeks spread down over his neck and chest. But it’s not quite enough – not for me, or for him – and it’s obvious he’s holding back. The time comes for him to speed up and hit it hard, but instead he just shudders all over, and makes these bone-melting desperate sounds. Almost like ohs, but not quite.
‘Don’t worry, don’t worry,’ I tell him, but I don’t think my words come out right, either, and his ohs definitely get louder when I add, ‘You won’t hurt me, fuck me hard, OK? Fuck me, Gabe.’
But he still holds himself back. I can feel his body, straining against the leash. His thrusts turn sloppy and uncoordinated, and the sound he makes when he presses his face into the crook of my neck – it’s almost like a sob.
I just have to fuck myself on him. It’s not difficult – I just grab a handful of his arse and rut up and down beneath him like a maniac, sobbing myself whenever that gorgeous cock rubs hard and solid against that sweet spot inside me.
His belly keeps grazing my clit, too – which is more maddening, than anything else. But luckily he hasn’t forgotten his manners, because he lifts himself up and gets a hand between our bodies.
Those two fingers, sliding down. And down. And down. Oh.
But I only come, when he says, ‘Yes, yes. Fuck me harder.’
Both because of the gasping, breathless, slutty tone to his voice, and the realisation that his body is jolting and juddering like that because I’m ramming myself down on his cock.
I say his name. I don’t care. I don’t think my pussy has ever clamped down so hard on anything in all its days, and I know I’ve never gone so tense, all over. When he goes to move his hand away I mash mine down on top of it, because it’s so good and so expansive that I don’t mind it going on for ever – long past the point where it’s comfortable.
When I finally come out of it, he looks sweaty and startled and in absolute agony – though I don’t think we’ve been having this weird push-me-pull-you sex for all that long.
‘You seemed to … like that,’ he says, half trying to laugh, I think, but he doesn’t laugh at all when I tell him it’s his turn, now. He tries to say some desperate unsure thing like I can’t get there, but that’s OK because it’s obvious why.
‘Harder,’ I tell him, and when he tries to squirm out of it I order him. I think I maybe call him my fucktoy. I tell him I want my fucktoy to do it to me so hard I won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, and in response he tries an experimental thrust.
It’s pathetic, really.
‘I can see I’m going to have to spank you, until you do it right,’ I say, and he moans no, Maddie. Don’t.
While pushing his arse into the sudden firm clasp of my hand. It’s an awkward twist to do it, but worth it for the way he bites his lip too hard, and shivers once, like a wet dog. When I do smack him, it’s more of a firm and sudden squeeze, a handful of arse that makes him surge forward.
I think I choke on his cock. But it’s OK, it’s good. He draws back and then seems to fumble his way to an almost hard enough rhythm – which improves, when I slap and squeeze again. In fact, it improves so much that I feel my inner thighs go oddly weak, at the firm and constant pressure right … there.
He’s kind of still twisted to one side, a little, and the
way he rolls his hips … God. No snapping back and forth like a jackhammer – actual rolling, hard and steady. One of his hands goes to my hip and … I don’t know. I think he just presses down, but it feels like a trigger. It sets off something tense and heated.
I definitely pant for him to keep doing that, and it’s then that his body tightens. I see it happen, and know he’s holding it off – breathing suddenly absent and lips pressed together in a thin line.
So I dig my nails in, and watch him jerk against me, all that pent up need coming out of him in a sound I never thought I’d hear him make. It’s loud and frantic and he can’t seem to stop once he’s started; he squeezes hard enough to leave bruises, at my hip.
I feel him swell inside me – impossible as that seems – and then his eyes snap open and he tells me Maddie, Maddie, as his body jerks through an orgasm that never ends.
When he’s finally through, I think he’s managed to lock himself in one position. His hand won’t unclasp from my hip, and I notice his other hand has fisted the pillow into some impossible shape.
It takes some unwinding and unravelling. And when I finally manage it, he collapses all over me like an undercooked soufflé. Hugs me and hugs me and won’t let me go.
But I don’t mind. I don’t. I really don’t think I mind any of this, at all.
Chapter Eleven
I THINK I DOZED. I’m sure there was a dream about some sort of Christopher-Pike-Gabe-turns out-to-be-an-alien-thing. He probably is, come to think of it. Cosmo never talks about men like him.
But I come to rested and warm and still weak from the waist down, curled around his pillow. I can’t remember the last time someone owned a pillow in my bed, but there it is. And he does.
He can have all my pillows, for being seated against the wall by the closed door, legs crooked up, with a book between them.
He’s wearing one of my towels around his waist, but other than that he’s naked. Just seated there, half-nude, uncaring! I want to ruffle his still wet hair. I want to kick him for not waking me up for shower time. It would have been a real treat, to see him trying to scrub away naughty sex.
But then he looks up, face lineless and open, and I don’t think he really believes that we’re being naughty. Instead he focuses on the silliest, most innocuous thing:
‘You don’t mind, do you? That I had a shower? I didn’t think you’d mind.’
‘Why would I mind?’ I ask, and am shocked by how sleepy and satisfied it comes out. I’m practically drawling. And I think I can still feel the echo of his cock, between my legs.
He shrugs one shoulder. He really has the most adorable bashful look – lips sort of turned inwards, eyebrows raised.
‘Didn’t think you’d mind the book, either. You seem to enjoy encouraging my education.’
I laugh, at that – though it too comes out warm and dozy. How did he manage to make me so comfortable, in my own skin? Wish I knew.
‘I do,’ I say. ‘I’m all for bettering oneself.’
He glances at the cover – a classic: Ultimate Threesomes Four – and laughs right back at me. Though when he laughs, it’s never really that. It’s more of a sound, struggling to fight past his lips. A little chuff, pulled right out of him.
‘Is it good?’
Again, a one-shouldered shrug.
‘Ultimate Threesomes Two was definitely the masterpiece of the quartet. This one’s lacking.’ He tosses it aside. ‘I wasn’t really reading it, anyway.’
‘Oh, that old excuse.’
‘I wasn’t. I wouldn’t lie. I don’t have to lie, with you.’
He meets my gaze, steady as anything. Mine’s not doing quite as good.
‘Mainly I was just … looking at you. You went to sleep in the crook of my arm – never had anyone do that before.’
I keep my eyes on him. I keep them there. I don’t try and get away. Especially as I think he’s just going to keep talking. He seems completely relaxed, and he’s going to keep talking. I wonder how much of it I can take.
‘But then I was just creepily staring at you, so I thought I’d better get up and distract myself. Shower. Books. The books didn’t work very well.’
‘You weren’t looking at me, when I woke up.’
‘Lucky, I guess. Though I have just told you all of this, so …’
‘Pointless, trying to hide your creepy staring.’
‘Exactly.’
He breaks off the locked gaze thing, then. Maybe he couldn’t stand it – I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like it, but what do I know? I’m some sort of insane emotional cripple.
‘You know – I think there are some clothes that would fit you, in the drawer over there,’ I say, and only when he gets up do I know why I directed him to them – because he won’t be facing me any more. He won’t.
And I can say the words I want to say when his back is to me, with the sound turned down.
The next time I wake up, it’s after a take-out dinner in bed, and more talk about random things that somehow lead to me wanting to declare undying love, and it’s late. Around 3 a.m., I think, though the sudden warzone bed doesn’t seem to know it.
Did he really think I wouldn’t feel it shaking, like that? He’s not exactly gentle, when he jerks off. He’s vigorous, and hard on himself, and God it makes me wet just listening to him trying to be quiet.
Though I kind of suspect that he’s not exactly trying to be as quiet as he can be. He hasn’t got his hand pressed to his mouth, for a start. I can hear him breathing too hard and occasionally stifling a moan against the seam of his lips.
And when I say his name, he just moans louder.
‘You could have woken me, you know,’ I say into the semi-darkness, and I can hear his hand speeding up on his cock. That slick, rapid sound – ah, delicious.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t sleep very well. Especially when – especially with – oh, oh yes – Maddie!’
‘Are you going to come?’
‘Soon. It’s really coming easy.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘You should – ah!’
I listen to him going at it for a few blissful seconds more, then have to get him over here. I’m human – there’s only so much I can take.
So I reach behind myself and fumble over whatever I can find, until his hand stills and his body stills and he does his little non-laugh.
‘I don’t know if I can ask you for sex,’ he says, through said amused sound. And I suppose it is amusing, really. We’re both stumbling around in the dark, unsure. Happy, somehow, to be unsure.
‘You can ask me for anything. Come up against me, OK?’
He does as I ask far too slowly, settling around the curve of my body with an even more amused are we spooning now? To which I reply that I guess we are. He isn’t touching himself any more, but I can feel the hot press of his erection, against my bare back. Against my arse, occasionally – not sliding in or between anything, but certainly eager.
And then his arm loops over and around me, and he pushes his face – his mouth – against the all too sensitive nape of my neck. When I shiver, he pulls away a little, startled. But I soon fix that with a hand behind me, on the nape of his neck.
I clamp down hard, and yank him back rough, and now it’s his turn to shiver. Do what you want, I tell him, and his hand immediately comes up to cup and squeeze my right breast. Though it’s not him suddenly tugging at my nipple – just once, light and good – that pushes me over the edge into do-anything-excitement. It’s when I feel his tongue sliding cool and slick over the back of my neck.
That’s when I buck and order him to put his hand between my legs. Of course, by this point I’m sure he’d get there eventually, all on his own. He’s got my tits and all the licking in hand, after all. But I won’t lie – I don’t want to wait.
And he doesn’t make me. He slides his hand down my belly and squeezes between my closed thighs, wriggling his way in until he’s cupping my sex in almost the
same way as he’d cupped my breast. Insistently, firmly.
‘What do you want me to do next?’ he says, and my mind forgets everything, everything but him. I could eat those words, every time he says or implies them.
Instead, I squirm back against the heated bar of his cock. He makes a little startled sound, and backs off – though his hand remains exactly where it is. His shoulder clicks, somewhere close to my ear – probably trying hard to stay in its socket.
‘Tell me what to do,’ he demands, again, and really – who am I to deny him?
‘Rub my clit until I come,’ I say, then think to add, ‘And don’t do anything to yourself, while you do me. Not anything. Understood?’
There’s a pause, and when he speaks it’s hoarse and faint.
‘I don’t think I can wait much longer.’
And it’s the weirdest thing. I am almost certain that he’s only saying that for my benefit. In fact, I think I know it. I do know it. He’s now somehow aware enough of my likes and dislikes to understand that I enjoy the idea of him not being able to wait.
Like he’s going to go off any second while he’s touching me, and come all over my back and my arse. Like he’s so excited that he’s going to fail, and fall to frantic jerking off in the middle of making me come.
‘You can finish after I’ve gone – any sooner and I’ll be very disappointed. You don’t want that, do you?’
‘No, God – no. Help me, though – show me how you like it. You like it quick and light, don’t you, Maddie? Just like this. In circles, like this.’
I try to get words out. I try. But he’s doing exactly what he’s saying and by God he’s right.
‘Because I’ll bet it feels good when you really press down hard on your clit, but teasing makes it better, in the end.’
He really is good at putting theory, into practice.
‘Maybe that’s why you hold off all the time, and get me to put on a show for you. So it’s better when you finally get it.’ He’s half right, this time. ‘Sometimes I do the same thing. I wait, and wait, and then when I do it I stroke lightly, like this, because I know I need pressure to really get off. And it feels so good, so good, when I go a little faster, a little harder. It feels so good to talk to you like this, Maddie.’
Control (Xcite Erotic Romance Novels) Page 13