Rm w/a Vu

by A. D. Ryan

  We luck out, finding a decent parking space in the middle of the lot, and we head inside. It isn’t a surprise that the line for our movie is huge as everyone waits for the last show to let out.

  Greyston places a hand on my lower back, drawing my attention to him. “Why don’t you wait in line, and I’ll go get the popcorn?” he suggests.

  I agree, requesting extra butter on the popcorn—I hate the dry pieces. Before I leave him, I pop up onto my toes and kiss him on the lips, taking my ticket and heading toward the auditorium while he stands in the concession line.

  He joins me in the massive lineup ten minutes later, struggling to balance the large popcorn and two drinks. He’s also grumbling about how it all cost close to half of what our dinner did. Stepping over the thin rope separating the line from the rest of the common area, Greyston hands me my drink.

  “Thanks.” I take a sip. “What time is it?”

  He checks his watch. “Almost eight. Has the other show let out yet?”

  “Yeah, I think they’re just cleaning the theater now.” Just as soon as I speak, a few staff members emerge to let everyone in. We manage to find seats in the middle of the row and near the top. It isn’t long before the entire theater is packed and the lights dim.

  As the previews play, I reach over and help myself to the popcorn in Greyston’s lap. We both point out which upcoming movies we’d like to see, and it surprises me—though it shouldn’t—to find we have pretty similar tastes in films.

  I’m caught by surprise when Greyston leans in and places a finger beneath my chin, turning my face to his and kissing me softly. I release a sigh, my desire erupting and pushing through my veins. I can taste the salt from the popcorn on his lips, and I kiss him a little more firmly. It only takes a second to remember where we are and that we’re surrounded by hundreds of other people, and we pull apart, breathless and frustrated. Even though we’d both like to carry on like a couple of horny teenagers, I settle for sidling up to him instead. I slide my arm beneath his and rest my head on his shoulder as we watch the movie.

  We don’t move (except to eat popcorn) for the first half of the film. Eventually, my ass starts to fall asleep, so I move to shift my weight, pulling my legs onto my seat and tilting my knees toward Greyston. He sees this as an invitation to rest his hand on my thigh—not that I’m complaining. As his thumb moves back and forth over the denim, I drop the hand I was tickling his arm with to his leg. I’m aware of just how close it is to the zipper of his jeans, but he doesn’t react one way or another, so I figure he’s just really into the movie.

  I don’t know what comes over me, but I feel the need to see just how far I can take this.

  While I know it’s highly inappropriate, I adjust my body again, this time brushing the side of my breast against his arm. No reaction. He just looks at the screen. With my head still on his shoulder, I continue to watch him through my upper lashes. I flatten my hand on his thigh, my pinky finger grazing the bulge in his jeans. He swallows thickly, and I smile triumphantly, victory swelling in my chest and making my body tingle.

  I tilt my head slightly, wanting to feel his lips on mine—to hell with a full theater. He looks down to find me smiling, my hand moving up his thigh until I’m almost palming his crotch.

  “Juliette,” he warns under his breath.

  I return my eyes to the movie, but my hand remains on his thigh, still moving and feeling his body react to my touch. It’s…empowering. I’m almost drunk on the feeling.

  Finally, his hand slides from the outside of my one thigh to between them. He moves it up, the tips of his fingers tracing the heavy seam of my jeans. Excitement zips through my veins as I take a shuddering breath. It doesn’t take long before his hand rests at the juncture between my legs, and I react by curling my fingers into his thigh and bicep, unable to fully process what’s happening.

  His hand continues to move, this time back and forth against the seam of my jeans. I want more—need more—but I know it can’t happen here. I’m still aware of our surroundings, even if my vision is starting to darken around the edges. My breaths become shallow, and I dig my nails into his upper arm. My other hand continues to move over what I can only now imagine is a full-blown erection.

  We’re seriously like a couple of teenagers.

  The movie finally ends, and I’m so worked up from the last forty-five minutes or so—we both are—that I can’t wait to be home and see where all this might lead. I move to stand, but Greyston’s hand presses down on my thigh, stopping me. I’m confused, until I look at the expression on his face.

  “Just…give me a minute,” he pleads, his voice gravelly. He leans over and places a kiss below my ear. “You’ve worked me into quite a state.”

  A few minutes go by before Greyston and I deem it safe to leave. He lets me walk in front, his hands on my hips as we maneuver through the thick crowd. His thumbs slip beneath the hem of my shirt and tease the bare skin of my back, making my body hum with desire all over again.

  It feels like forever before we reach the car, and just as I grab the handle, Greyston flips me around and presses his body to mine, sandwiching me between him and the car. His hands grip my ass firmly, inviting a sharp gasp from me as he lifts me until we’re face-to-face. I lean in to kiss him, but he pulls back before I connect. I whimper when he changes course, letting his lips ghost along the shell of my ear. I twist my fingers into his hair tightly when he lowers me back to the ground.

  “You have no idea what it is you do to me.”

  “I think I might.” My voice cracks.

  Without another word, Greyston unlocks the doors and opens mine for me. I ease into the car, my legs trembling, and he rushes around to the driver’s side. He definitely drives above the speed limit—something my dad would have his head for, but we’ll just keep it a secret between us; I happen to like Greyston’s head right where it is.

  We fly through the front door, disarming the alarm and locking the door between frantic kisses.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Greyston suggests.

  I shake my head in response. “No time,” I mumble against his lips. “The couch is closer.”

  I slip my fingers above the knot in his tie and pull it loose on our clumsy journey toward the living room. Somehow we manage to navigate blindly until my legs hit the seat cushions, and we collapse together. His hands are all over me, gliding, pulling, groping.

  I whimper when he pushes himself between my legs. His tongue glides over my lower lip, prompting mine to come out and play. Desperation fuels my actions. I twist my fingers into his hair, holding him in place as I deepen our voracious kiss.

  The need to have him touch me everywhere is strong, but before I can tell him what I want, one of his hands moves from my hips until he’s palming a breast. He squeezes gently before releasing and running his thumb over my hardened nipple. This drives me absolutely wild, and I thrusts my chest forward, begging with every whimper and moan for more.

  Naturally, he complies.

  He stops kissing me and props himself up on one arm to look down at me. “I’m going to remove your shirt now,” he informs me. I nod, unable to find my voice.

  He leans back on his heals, and I sit up, raising my arms over her head to aid Greyston in his mission. The thin satiny fabric does little to hide my nipples—especially since I chose not to wear a bra. It suddenly occurs to me that Greyston is about to see my naked breasts for the first time. I’m nervous again.

  He hooks his thumbs beneath the hem of my shirt and slowly moves his hands up. His palms and fingers ghost lightly over my sides as they move upward. He falters, almost hesitating when his palms feel the swell of each breast.

  Almost.

  The hem of my shirt grazes my nipples when he raises it above my head. I sigh at the sensation, closing my eyes and biting my lip as he tosses the shirt to the floor and brings his hands immediately back to my chest.

  “God, your tits are beautiful,” he tells me.

  “Mmm
,” I hum, reaching out and loosening a few buttons on his shirt. “They’re okay.”

  “No,” he says, squeezing and pinching my nipples. “They’re better than okay.”

  I giggles, her cheeks heating up. “If you say so. I’ve never been much into boobs before, so what do I know?”

  As Greyston continues to fondle my breasts, I finish unbuttoning his shirt and work on pushing it down his arms. When it reaches his elbows, it won’t go any further. I tilt my head to the left and arch an brow at him.

  “Think you can tear yourself away long enough to take your shirt off?” I ask playfully.

  He seems to struggle with the decision, glancing at his hands on my breasts. Eventually, he releases my chest and yanks his shirt down his arms. I’m not naïve enough to realize he moves quickly because he wants to be touching me again.

  He rolls us onto our sides, and his fingers seem to follow an invisible trail his eyes have set. They start at my temple, moving down along my cheekbone and over my jaw before tracing the long line of my neck. I sigh, my body electrified and arching into him.

  He pauses to kiss and lick the hollow of my throat, and my abdomen quivers against his. My pleasure is slowly mounting, but I’m still so far from where I want to be. His lips roam over my clavicle and down between my breasts while he cups one of them firmly.

  “Oh god,” I pant, arching my back into Greyston’s touch.

  He releases my chest, moving his hand firmly down my ribs and over my hips. His thumb firmly traces the soft curve of my hip, stopping once he’s reached the waist of my jeans.

  “Do it,” I plead breathlessly. “Please.”

  I don’t need to ask Greyston twice. He lowers his face to my breast and pulls one of my nipples into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and making me hiss. He works quickly to undo the button of my pants before he slips one behind the denim and strokes me above the thin barrier of cotton. I see fireworks behind my closed eyelids. I writhe against Greyston’s hand as he moves it back and forth, tracing the inner-leg seam of my underwear several times before dipping a finger inside.

  He releases my breast with a low pop and presses his forehead to my sternum. “Fuck me,” he mutters quietly, removing his finger and moving it up to the waist of my panties for better access and mobility.

  The minute his entire hand slips beneath the fabric, I sigh a long “yesssssssss,” before thrusting my hips against Greyston’s hand.

  He slips two fingers between my legs, circling and gliding with ease around my clit and catapulting me closer to the brink of orgasm. I’m lost above him—panting, writhing, and clinging to the arm of the couch as he pleasures me with his nimble and talented fingers.

  “Jesus, you’re so wet.”

  His words register immediately, and I gasp. My head shoots up, and I stare at Greyston with wide, horrified eyes.

  He must sense my alarm, because he scoots up on the couch a little until we’re face-to-face and kisses me lightly while sliding his fingers back up again. The tingle returns, relaxing me a little, but not enough. “No no no… It’s good, baby,” he tries to assure me, kissing me again and teasing my opening. “So…fucking…good.”

  He adds a little pressure, easing his finger inside me. My horror is forgotten, and I fall back onto the couch and moan as he presses deeper, using his thumb on my clit to draw out my burgeoning orgasm.

  Greyston shifts awkwardly next to me, trying to move the arm beneath him for something. I look at him curiously, and then I realize what the issue is when his erection presses into my hip.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice gravelly.

  Greyston chuckles. “Just a little uncomfortable,” he confesses, undoing his jeans and adjusting himself. “I fear sterility if I don’t free myself from the shrinking confines of my pants.”

  I can’t help but giggle, my eyes moving from his to his hand down his pants. I shimmy down a little, locking eyes with him as I wrap my hand around his wrist and pull his hand from his pants.

  “I wasn’t…” he whispers. “I just needed…”

  My next move must catch him off guard, because his eyes widen. Biting my lip, I slip an arm between us and into his pants. I suck in a breath when my hand wraps around his stiff length. He groans. I freeze, suddenly uncertain.

  “What is it?” he asks gently.

  “I’ve,” I begin to say before fear silences me. I push through it when I see the desire in his eyes. “It’s just, I’ve never…”

  He seems stunned—quite possibly more stunned than he was when he learned I’d never had an orgasm before.

  “Not ever?” he asks. I can only shake my head and look away. Greyston leans forward and kisses me softly. I look at him and see he’s smiling. “Well, just do what comes naturally.

  I bite my lip again and let my hand slide down his erection. “Like that?”

  “It’s a damn good start,” he manages in a gravelly voice, meeting my movement with one of his own and pressing his lips to my throat.

  “It’s hard,” I tell him, feeling frustrated at how little mobility I have.

  I feel his lips curve into a smile against my neck before he bites me. “Yeah. That usually happens when the two of us are together.”

  I didn’t even realize what I’d said until he makes his little joke. I laugh. “No…well, yeah, that too, but I meant moving my hand. It’s difficult.” I pause and let go of him. “Can we…take your pants off? I’d like to do this right.”

  He stares at me, unblinking, for a minute. “You want my pants off?” I nod. “Pants. Off?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “No pants? Off?”

  This time, I laugh lightly, lifting my head off the couch and kissing his jaw toward his ear. “We could…take mine off too? If you want, that is.”

  “Y-yeah,” he stammers. “Pants off.”

  Without a second thought, he hops to his knees, loops his fingers into the waist of my pants and pulls them off until I’m in nothing more than my white cotton panties.

  I sit up and hold Greyston’s gaze as I tug his jeans down over his hips. I struggle for a second, so he jumps up and slides them down the rest of the way before kicking them off.

  He joins me again, both of us down to our underwear, and we resume kissing. His erection presses into my hip. I place my hand on his chest before moving it down his body and tracing the elastic waist of his boxers. I tug lightly, working them down one hip. He raises his other hip, and I free his erection entirely. My lips stop moving as my focus is redirected between us. I inhale shakily when uncertainty sets in again.

  Greyston slides his hand back between my legs, and it’s just the boost of confidence I need. I grip him in my hand and move up and down slowly, mirroring his movements. I close my eyes and mewl—a sound I didn’t even know I could make—when he flattens his hand against me and slips his fingers between my folds. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but it feels great.

  Then I feel nothing at all when he extracts his hand.

  I whimper, opening my eyes and watching as he slips his hand beneath mine and starts stroking himself.

  My insecurities come roaring back. “Was I not…?”

  “No no no,” he whispers, stroking himself slowly. “Here…” He releases himself and guides my hand back to him. “Now try.”

  My hand glides over him much easier than before. “Oh.” I smile, enjoying how fluid the movement is now.

  Greyston groans when I add a little pressure and move up toward the tip. “Jesus, Juliette. Don’t stop.” He moves onto his side and slips his hand back into my panties. He matches my movements; for every up, he goes back, and for every down, he goes forward, circling his finger around my clit. Warm tingles shoot through my veins and my grip tightens.

  Next to me, Greyston’s body tenses. “Juliette,” he grunts, thrusting his hips into my hand while simultaneously easing his fingers inside of me. “I’m going to come.”

  Who knew hearing that would make my lower body ache for m
ore. I moan even louder than before when his fingers sink in further. “Yes,” I pant into his mouth, never slowing my movements. I’ve even started palming the head before gliding back down his shaft, and it seems to drive him fucking wild.

  “Oh!” I feel like I’m body-slammed by several different sensations all at once when he curls his fingers a certain way. The tension in my muscles releases, my toes curl, and every inch of my body tingles.

  Greyston snakes his other arm beneath me and twists his fingers into my hair, pulling my face to his. I moan into his hungry kiss, my hand moving over him faster as he tries to coax another orgasm out of me. This orgasm is even more forceful than the first, forcing me to stop kissing him at the exact moment my body tenses around him. I open my mouth, but hold back on crying out, riding the wave silently.

  And just when I think it can’t get any better, he slips his thumb over my clit. I bite my lip, everything in me trembling.

  He presses harder, making me gasp, and my grip around him to tighten. “Don’t hold back,” he says. “I want to hear you when you come…feel you tighten around my fingers…want us to come together.”

  I don’t think I could possibly have another orgasm, but sure enough, my lady bits are tightening and constricting around Greyston’s fingers, and my cries begin to mount. I’m not too lost in my orgasm to notice that Greyston’s hips are thrusting into my hand even faster, chasing his own climax.

  “Oh, god,” he mumbles brokenly, his hips now pulsing in short, uneven movements until, finally, they still. Warmth spreads across my stomach and spreads beneath my skin.

  He rests his slick forehead against my neck as we ride the high I know we’re both reeling from. My hand falls slack around him, and I pull it away slowly, realizing the source of the warmth on my stomach when I look down.

  Greyston looks up at me, realizing it also. “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Sorry?” I inquire, still a little out of breath. I can’t imagine what he’s apologizing for…unless he really didn’t want us to go as far as we did. “You mean, you didn’t want to—”