Rm w/a Vu

by A. D. Ryan

I arch an eyebrow, unsure if he’s serious. “Your behavior after paintballing,” I tell him.

  This only makes him smile, and his hands move up the outside of my thighs, his fingers hooking into the sides of my panties. “Mmm hmm.”

  “It was kind of upsetting.” My confession forces him to pause, and he stares at me in shock. “I just… I thought we were having fun.” I exhale loudly. “And then you barely spoke to me until we got home.”

  Soft fingers touch my jaw as Greyston cradles my face in his large hands, my body still firmly pinned between him and the mirror. “You think I was upset about losing to you?” I shrug despondently. “Baby,” he croons, his soft voice rolling over me like warm water. He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. “Watching you today was…well, it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  My eyes snap open, and my jaw falls slack in his hands. Did I really just hear him right?

  He shifts his hips between my legs once more, and his hands drift back to my thighs. “You were so confident out there today—proving it time and time again with every shot you made. You were so focused and in control.” Pausing, he chuckles lightly. “It’s no wonder I lost so many damn times.”

  “Well,” I say, feeling relieved and a little stupid for misreading him—again, “that, or you just suck.”

  Greyston’s chuckle turns into a deep laugh. “It took every shred of self-control I had to keep my hands off of you, because I knew that even the slightest touch would result in me taking you wherever we were.” Slowly, his hands travel up my outer thighs to my ass, pulling me against him. I wince when his fingers press into one of my bruises, and he pulls his hand back, looking remorseful.

  “Comes with the territory,” I assure him as he leans over to inspect it. He’s got to move my panties slightly in order to see the area entirely, and I sigh when he ghosts his finger over the tender flesh.

  He abandons the area when he notices the ones on my stomach and chest. “Jesus,” he mutters, tracing around them with his thumb. “Where else?”

  “The, uh, back of my thigh.” I bite my lip and reach out to tug his shirt up his body. “Really, I’m fine. I’d be willing to bet I left my own marks on you.” He raises his arms as I remove his shirt, and I take in the two deep purpley-red marks on his left pectoral. I let my fingers glide over them, the pads of them barely making contact with his skin, but his body reacts, the light hairs on his chest prickling into goosebumps.

  I lean forward and press a gentle kiss against the reddened flesh, and Greyston groans, his hips pushing against me and making me whimper. My hands move up his chest, feeling his hard muscles, and then up around his neck until I’m fisting his hair.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can wait,” I admit softly, looking up into his stormy eyes.

  He smiles, moving his hand between us and into my panties. My eyes begin to roll back into my head as his fingers glide back and forth. “Greyston,” I breathe, letting my head fall back.

  The hand that’s not busy pushing me closer to climax moves up my back and undoes my bra on the second try, letting it fall slack around me. I release my hold around his neck and toss the bra to the floor as Greyston takes one of my erect nipples into his mouth. His warm tongue flattens against my breast before he grazes his teeth over the pebbled flesh, driving me absolutely crazy.

  “More,” I pant, and Greyston eases his fingers into me. But it’s not enough. “I need you.”

  Before he can protest, I undo his jeans and let them pool around his ankles before working his underwear over his erection to join them. He removes his hand from between us and looks at me, his eyes not showing any sign of objection before he hooks his fingers back into the sides of my underwear and tugs them down my legs.

  This is happening. My palms begin to sweat, and my heart pounds rapidly as I look over his paint-splattered face. I can feel the tip of him resting against my heated flesh. Slowly, I push my hips forward, forcing his length to slide through my arousal, and we both release a satisfied moan.

  And it’s still not enough.

  “Greyston,” I whisper again.

  His hips continue to move, his erection gliding with ease back and forth between my lower folds, and I teeter on the edge of pure bliss, while still craving more. Whimpering, I thrust my hips against him in hopes he’ll take the hint and take me.

  He doesn’t, though. Instead, he pulls away and bends down. Confused and breathless, I watch as he pulls his ankles from his pants, removes his socks, and then picks up the denim and heads toward the shower to turn it on. On his way back over to me, he drops his pants back to the floor, but my eyes remain locked on the square foil packet he’s holding between his fore and middle fingers as he takes his place between my legs again.

  Unable to take even the smallest space between us, I grab his face and pull him down to me, kissing him hard while digging my heels into his backside and forcing him to rock against me again and again.

  Warm steam slowly fills the room as his lips pepper a trail over my jaw, down my neck, and then he stops at my breasts. I arch my back up off the bed when he wraps his mouth around one of my nipples, and when his tongue circles it, I thread my fingers into his hair to hold him against me and moan loudly.

  Our lips unite in a kiss so firm it almost comes across as needy, and his hard dick slips easily between legs. I begin to move my hips, forcing him back and forth between my thighs, but never letting him enter me—even though that’s what I want more than anything right now. I can tell he’s being careful to keep this from happening, and the minute I hear that foil packet tear between us, I silently rejoice.

  “God I love how wet you are,” he announces, and I moan again, unabashedly grinding myself against him.

  “And I love…” I momentarily consider not finishing the sentence because I don’t speak this way—ever—but some kind of switch flips in my brain, and I just go with it “…how your hard cock feels against my pussy.”

  I never would have imagined that I’d ever partake in dirty talk, mostly because I was afraid that whoever was on the receiving end of it would laugh at me, essentially killing the moment.

  Not Greyston, though. There hasn’t been one time that I can recall where he’s ever intentionally made me feel like what I’ve said or done has been ridiculous, and he’s never laughed at me—not even when I thought he was gay.

  Before things can get too far, we stop kissing, and my body trembles as my orgasm threatens to retreat. He looks almost tortured, like he’s struggling with something before he pulls out and slips the condom on. I’m not ashamed to admit that I fully enjoy watching him roll it over his length. Once it’s in place, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer to him until I can feel him again.

  Our eyes lock. All I can see is how much he cares for me, and with a whimper, I pull his face back to mine and kiss him. With our bodies pressed together, Greyston slowly pushes his hips forward. The sensation unparalleled to anything I’ve ever experienced. Greyston moans into my mouth the minute his hips rest flat against my thighs, his entire length sheathed within me. It’s amazing; my whole body feels like it’s on fire—like millions of electric shocks, crackling and sparking beneath the surface of my skin.

  I tighten my legs around Greyston’s waist, holding him close as I shift my hips against him, and he slowly pulls out and then sinks back in, repeating this satisfying, yet completely torturous motion over and over and over again.

  “Oh!” I cry out, my voice echoing off the walls of the bathroom. “That’s good…so good! Don’t stop.”

  But he does. Still inside of me, he grabs my ass and lifts me off the counter, carrying me toward the shower and opening the glass door before stepping inside and pressing my back to the cool tile wall. I’m not too lost to the sensation of Greyston inside me to know this isn’t in some way awkward, so I move to drop my feet.

  Greyston is quick to correct this action, sliding his hands down my water-slickened thighs and holding them in place.
To affirm his position, he plunges into me again, making me cry out as my orgasm swells just out of reach.

  I’m close to my release, and Greyston knows it. His eyes lock on mine, and he resumes his careful pace. The tempo of his hips increases, gaining not only speed, but also depth, and hitting me at angles I’ve never even dreamed of before.

  And, for some reason, it’s still not enough.

  My hips meet his, making our combined thrusts a little deeper, a little more intense, and a lot more satisfying. Sure, it’s awkward since I have very little leverage other than the wall, but eventually, we find our rhythm and move together.

  I whimper at the loss of his lips on mine, but the sound turns to a sigh as he kisses down my jaw and over my neck.

  “Oh god, Juliette,” Greyston growls, pressing his forehead to my neck, dampened by sweat. “You feel so fucking good.” His voice is raspy, and his words are punctuated with every push.

  “Yes.” I sigh, my hands clenching against the bed while his free hand travels over my body—groping, pushing, pulling. Every muscle in my body tightens, and my heart pounds heavily against my ribs until it and our labored breaths are all I hear. “S’good,” I murmur.

  The minute Greyston’s hand releases mine, he ensnares my hips and pulls me roughly against him, causing another orgasm to crash through me, shattering the flimsy barrier that struggled to keep it contained. He cries out against my neck as my hands fall to his muscular shoulders, and his fingers curl into my skin. His hips move in short, determined movements, and I can feel him pulse and release inside me.

  My legs tremble around him as I let the final waves of euphoria wash over me, and Greyston’s head remains against my skin as our breathing steadies once more. The entire time we stay like this, I start to feel emotional—I’m not going to cry, or anything, but…it’s the first time I’ve ever gotten anything out of sex. And I’m not just talking about the orgasms; the emotional connection between Greyston and me makes things even more intense.

  As I try to catch my breath, Greyston plants soft kisses across my chest and up my neck until he’s kissing me softly. My legs tremble around him, so he wraps his arms around my waist to steady me as he lowers me to the shower floor. Paint is trickling down our legs and circling the drain.

  Slowly, he lifts his face, his eyes hooded and relaxed. “You’re amazing,” he says softly, kissing me once.

  “Thank you,” I tell him, instantly feeling stupid, because I’m not actually thanking him for his recent statement. “I mean…for being you. I didn’t know that sex could be that…” I pause, unable to think of a word that accurately describes how I feel about what just happened between us “…fucking epic.” That’ll have to do.

  I’m still a little shaky, but I find my bearings soon enough. I reach up to run my hand along Greyston’s jaw, smearing the small paint spots across his skin from where the sweat and steam from the shower had loosened it. “What do you say we clean up and then curl up on the couch with something to eat?”

  Greyston waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I giggle. “Maybe we should worry about feeding our bodies to keep our energy up,” I counter. “We can think about that after we’ve eaten.”

  Greyston smirks, “I assure you I’ll be thinking about it the entire time.”

  Chapter 22

  It only takes a few minutes after our shower to fix my hair while Greyston goes downstairs to make us a light snack. After wiping up the water droplets on the counter, I enter my closet and throw on a pair of grey shorts and a black t-shirt before skipping down the stairs to find Greyston slicing some fruit.

  “Hey.” I pop up on my toes and kiss him lightly before taking my seat.

  Greyston grabs us a couple glasses of water and then joins me. I thank him before picking a slice of peach up off the plate and taking a bite. Greyston clears his throat, drawing my eyes to him, and it isn’t until I see the reddened tips of his ears that I realize he’s flustered about something. It’s adorable.

  “So,” he says, “I have to admit, today’s probably the best ‘welcome home’ I’ve ever received.”

  “Well, I guess I should be flattered, huh?” Pausing, I look down at the plate of fruit again. “And it was totally worth the wait.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” he interjects before dropping his eyes and clearing his throat. I can tell he’s nervous, but I can’t figure out why. It isn’t long before he enlightens me. With a nervous laugh, he swivels his chair until his body faces mine. “Today was…unbelievable, but I think we should talk about your comfort levels. It’s probably a talk we should’ve had before now, if I’m being entirely honest.”

  My stomach does about fifty backflips and a flying half twist. Not sure how I should reply, all I can come up with is, “Oh?”

  “Earlier, when you confessed to not being particularly fond of oral sex—even though I’d like to think I changed your mind…”He winks, and naturally, my cheeks blaze. “Well, I’d hate to do something that could make you uncomfortable or push you past what you’re ready for.”

  I both appreciate and understand his acceptance of my inexperience. While I know that an almost-twenty-one-year-old woman with my sexual rap sheet is definitely a rarity, he has been so gracious and patient with me as we entered this relationship.

  “Okay.” I take a drink of water.

  Through my periphery, I notice Greyston clasp his hands. “I realize this is an awkward conversation for us to be having, but given everything you’ve told me about your past with Ben, I think it would be best to put it all out there.”

  I smirk. “Are you saying there are things you’re not comfortable with sexually?”

  Silent for a moment before he laughs, he says, “I suppose there are, but probably not as many as you’d think.”

  My mouth falls open, and my eyes widen. I can’t stop the images of Greyston in every sexual situation imaginable from running through my head—it’s not just whips and chains, either. “Like what?” I ask, unable to keep the question from coming out.

  “We’ll get to that. But first, I’d like to know where you’re at.”

  I pick my jaw up off the floor and shake the filthy slideshow from my head. “So, what? You want to know positions and stuff that I like?”

  “For starters.” He shrugs. “But also other things… Like role playing, light bondage, and other taboo things.”

  My eyes widen again, this time more than before. “You mean like S and M?”

  “Oh, god, no… Of course, I’m not saying I would be opposed to tying you to my bedframe with one of my ties—or you tying me to the bed, for that matter—if that’s something you’re eventually comfortable with. But, you know, stuff like that.”

  Knowing he’s not into the darker side of sexual gratification—hey, I might not engage in it, but I’ve read about it—I relax. “Um, I don’t know. I guess I hadn’t really given much thought to it before. It might be fun, I suppose. But not right away, right?”

  He places a hand over one of mine, smiling reassuringly. “Of course not. I just thought it might be a good idea to lay it all out on the table so I don’t do something in the heat of the moment that might freak you out.”

  I know it shouldn’t be, because Greyston has never judged me for my choices or lack of experience, but having this conversation is a little awkward. I hate bringing Ben up in any capacity around him. Maybe it’s because I’m embarrassed that I could be so blind for so long about what kind of person he was or that he was robbing me of actually enjoying sex for the better part of our relationship. Whatever the reason, this conversation isn’t exactly easy, but I cooperate, because it is important.

  “Well, I guess I’m not sure if anything makes me overly nervous. I mean, it’s not like Ben was too concerned with making sex about me.” I pause, suddenly remembering something Ben had been pushing for more recently. I reach for some honeydew and stare at it for a second. “One thing Ben seemed to want to try that I wasn’t so sure about was…um…” I
don’t need a mirror to tell me how red my face is; I can feel the flames of hell beneath my skin, reaching all the way to my ears this time.

  “Tell me,” he gently urges.

  I’m nervous, because what I’m about to confess is quite crass. “Um, anal sex.” My voice is so quiet, even I can barely hear it.

  Nodding, Greyston reaches for his glass. “So, you’d like to take that off the table?”

  My eyebrows pull together as I watch him take a drink. “You’d like anal on the table?” Greyston chokes and sputters on his water, and I’m horrified when my question actually registers in my brain. “OH, GOD!” I slap my hand to my mouth. “I’m sorry…that’s not what I meant! I just…” I can’t even explain this away. I’m horrified.

  Greyston waves his hand and clears his throat. “No need to apologize. It’s my fault. I knew what you meant, but—being a guy—I may have taken it a little too literally.”

  Things are awkward between us for a moment—how the hell can they not be? I can’t bring myself to take a breath big enough to fill my lungs, and I’m feeling lightheaded. Greyston turns my chair to face him, and he places his hands along my jaw. “Consider it a non-issue,” he says softly.

  I can’t explain it, but just like every time he puts his hands on me, confidence surges through me. I’m not a meek person, by nature, but this—sex—is such a foreign area for me. But Greyston never makes me feel inadequate. Quite the opposite. He makes me feel sexy and beautiful…like I can do anything.

  I take a bite of my honeydew. It’s juicier than I’d anticipated, and just as I’m about to lick the drops from my lips, Greyston pulls me to him and kisses me, his tongue sweeping over my lower lip and taking care of the problem for me. Content, I hum as Greyston sits back in his chair, swiping my honeydew from my fingers and eating it.

  I narrow my eyes playfully, picking up some cantaloupe and having a bite. Then I smile and hold the remaining half out to him. Instead of taking it from me, he wraps his lips around the orange fruit, his tongue lapping at the juice dripping down my fingers. I try really hard to keep from blacking out and attempt to change the subject. Instead, I yawn. It’s not even that late, and yet I’m completely wiped out.