by Maria Monroe
Whoa. My cheeks burn, but there's unmistakable heat between my legs as well. It amazes me, once again, how his words alone can do so much to me, and the thought of his mouth . . . I blush harder and try not to think about exactly what he's going to do.
With a shaky hand I write: Nobody has ever done that to me before and hand it back to him.
His response after a few minutes: It's so hot that I will be the first one to taste you. I am hard right now just thinking about it. Under that he's written: Glad the teacher doesn't make us go up to the board.
I laugh out loud. Then I write: Julian, I wish I knew how to make you feel good like that. You know, with my mouth. Maybe you can teach me what to do?
When he reads it, I hear a low growl coming from him. I glance his way and he turns his face to mine. His eyes stare steadily into mine, his face is hard, and I know that what I wrote turned him on. It's true, though. I've never given a blow job. I have a vague idea of what it involves, but I'm pretty sure I'd make a fool out of myself if I ever tried to do one.
He starts writing, and when he hands the note to me, I read: God, Lia. You're killing me. You have no idea how many times I've thought about that.
My stomach flutters. The thought of us naked, of my mouth and his . . . Stop, I tell myself. Not now. Not here! It's ridiculous that I'm getting so turned on and antsy in the middle of a classroom, that I'm soaking wet while the teacher is talking and I'm surrounded by other students.
I decide to tease him a little bit, so I write: I think about it a lot too. I imagine that you are so big you would barely fit in my mouth, even if I opened it all the way, and I would lick you all over first, then slowly put you inside my mouth. I would try to put as much of your dick in as I could, but it would be hard because you are probably so huge. I’m bold, finding it possible to tell him things in writing that I'd never say out loud.
He clears his throat as he reads my note and shifts in his chair again. He looks at me, his eyes angry but in a playful way. He writes back: Stop. What are you trying to do to me? I can't handle reading stuff like that in class! Pay attention to the teacher.
I thought you were my teacher, I write back. So why don’t you act like it and plan a special lesson for me?
He doesn't pass the note to me again, and I know he's trying to pay attention to class. I also know, though, that he's not succeeding because he keeps glancing at me. All I can think about is what's going to happen at his house after class. And it's the longest fifty minutes ever.
***
The second we're dismissed, he grabs my hand and literally pulls me out the classroom door. Outside, the air is cool and crisp, and I can see my breath.
"What's the hurry?" I ask, though I know exactly why he's in such a rush.
He stops walking for a second and stands right up against me, out in public, for anyone to see. “You are,” he growls into my ear.
With that, he grabs my hand and we start walking again, but slower this time. The trees in and around campus are the most brilliant shades of fall colors, orange and yellow and red everywhere. In Chicago we have seasons too, but I'm from a fairly urban neighborhood and not accustomed to so many trees and so much beauty, so casually there.
"The leaves are so beautiful," I say, realizing it's a non sequitur but not exactly caring. "Fall's my favorite season," I add.
"Yeah, you and everyone else," says Julian with a smirk.
"Shut up!"
"What? You thought you were original for liking fall?" He laughs but not meanly. "I like it too."
"I just can't get enough of the trees. I didn't realize it would be this beautiful here in Maine."
"It's awesome. Literally awesome, in the actual sense of the word."
"You mean as opposed to the commonly accepted non-literal use of awesome that's so ubiquitous these days?"
"Exactly." He looks at me approvingly, and I feel like I just passed a test.
We continue through campus, still holding hands, and it's a little strange. At first, when he pulled me out of the classroom, it felt like he was a horn dog wanting to get me back to his place as quickly as possible. Now? It's almost like we're a couple, casually strolling through campus, but I know that isn't what we are. I'm confused and, like always, need to stop analyzing the situation so much. If I'm having fun, does it matter that we don't have an official "status”? Can't we just be sort-of friends who also mess around? People do that all the time, don't they? It's hard for me to understand what I'm feeling, so I push the thoughts away.
Abruptly, Julian lets go of my hand and stops. My muddled thoughts clear immediately when I look up and see Vanessa.
"Hey, Sis," says Julian.
Vanessa's face is calm but her eyes are quizzical. Did she see us holding hands?
"Hey Jules," she says. "Lia, how's it going?" Her words are level too, and if she saw anything, she's not letting on.
"Hi, Vanessa," I say nervously.
"Heading to class?" asks Julian.
"Aren't you observant today," says Vanessa with a wink at me, shifting her backpack higher on her right shoulder.
"You're late," says Julian. He's teasing, but I can hear the stress in his words. I know he's nervous about being found-out by his sister.
"Who are you, my time keeper? And a late warning? Coming from you? Hysterical."
Julian laughs. "I'll see you later then."
"OK," says Vanessa. "Bye, Lia."
She walks away from us, but looks back over her shoulder once, and I'm positive, in that moment, that she saw us holding hands. I want to ask Julian about it, want to find out what he thinks, but he mutters, "Come on," and starts walking again.
I feel awkward now after that exchange; I wish we could be holding hands again, wish that the comfortable feeling of strolling through campus together could be recaptured. Instead, all I feel is anxiety.
"Well if that wasn't a buzz kill," he murmurs suddenly and grins at me.
"Do you want me to just go back to my dorm?" Please say no, I think, but something compels me to offer it as a choice.
"I'm going to go crazy if I have to wait another second to touch you, Lia." His words are low and gruff, and my pulse picks up.
I feel the same way, but I don't know how to tell him. The notes in class were so hot, and I can't wait to be alone with him in his room again. I remember the glass of water, the cold ice on my skin, the way he knew exactly how to make me feel good.
When we finally get to his house, he locks the door as soon as we're inside. "I should offer you something to drink," he says, grabbing my hand again and pulling me towards his bedroom, "but I cannot wait any longer to get you alone." Inside his room, he slams the door and locks it, then walks slowly towards me. I back up, feeling the bed against the backs of my legs, and he gently pushes me so I'm sitting. "You were driving me absolutely crazy in class today," he says in a low voice with a hint of warning.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
"Were you turned on too?" He pushes me down so I'm lying on the bed and he's kneeling on top of me. I can feel how hard he is already pressing through his jeans and against my thigh.
"Yes," I whisper.
"Say it."
"I was turned on too."
"Good. Are you ready for more?"
He doesn't wait for a response. Instead, he leans over me. His tongue flickers on my lips, opening them, and then he's kissing me hard and fast, our mouths hungry for one another. It's just a kiss, but my body is already responding, arching up to feel him against me. The low noise in his throat lets me know he feels the same way, as though holding back is almost impossible. I wish we could just take off all our clothes—now—and let things happen. But I know Julian has other plans, some idea that these "lessons" and taking it slow are the best way to proceed. I'd never have guessed that a guy could have so much self control. But Julian isn't just any guy. And despite my frustration and desire for more, it turns me on that he's taking control, that he's in charge. That he knows what to do, so my
first time isn't a series of awkward fumbles with someone as inexperienced as I am.
He stops kissing me only long enough to pull my shirt off and over my head, then his lips are back on mine, possessive, until I moan for more.
He sits back, a dark smile on his face. "Take off your bra."
I hesitate for a second, his tone so sexy I feel almost frozen. "Now, Lia," he adds, his voice harsh. "Do what I say."
I nod, then reach behind my back to unfasten my bra. I slip my arms out of it and toss it aside.
"You're so fucking beautiful." He teases one of my nipples with his tongue, barely flicking it over my skin, so gently I can hardly stand it. My body squirms, trying to hold still but unable to do so. "What's wrong?" he teases, though it's evident from his tone that he knows exactly what the problem is.
"I just . . . it feels . . . "
"Say it."
"I want more, Julian," I finally say. "When you're so gentle like that it makes me crazy."
He laughs out loud. "Be patient. When you come today? You're going to be so hot and so wet already from all the teasing I'm going to do first." With that, he runs a hand down between my legs, pressing my clit through my jeans, then moves his hand up my bare stomach back to my nipple, which his fingers squeeze.
"Oh," I exclaim, in both shock and pleasure.
"You like that?"
"Yes. I like everything you do."
"I can tell. You're so responsive. It's fucking hot, Lia."
"I want to do things to you too," I whisper.
"You do things to me without even trying," he groans, biting my neck gently.
"No, I mean I want to really make you feel good. Like for real."
"We'll get to that," he replies in a low voice. "But now? I'm going to make you feel good." His fingers trail down my bare side, making me shiver at the light touch and in anticipation of what's to come. When his hand reaches the top of my jeans, he runs his fingers under the denim, just about an inch or so, and my body aches for more. I move my hips, wishing he would reach down lower into my jeans. "Hold still, Lia," he warns.
"I can't."
"You better." His fingers move to the button of my jeans, which he undoes quickly, then I both hear and feel my zipper being lowered. I breathe in quickly, then a low sound escapes my mouth when he finally lowers his hand, his fingers cool as they slip inside my underwear, touching me between my legs.
"Ohhh," I sigh as his fingers touch my clit, then move further, one finger entering me just a little.
"I knew you'd be soaking wet," he whispers into my ear, and I shudder from desire. "Ask me to take off your jeans," he says harshly.
"You can just take them off," I murmur, finding it hard to speak with his fingers moving so deftly between legs.
"Ask me, Lia."
"Julian, please take my jeans off."
He does, sliding them down and off quickly but leaving my underwear on. He runs his fingers down the outside of my panties, caressing me through the thin fabric. I writhe under his hand, wanting him touching my skin again; I don't want anything between his hand and me.
"Take them off. Please," I whisper.
He complies with a groan, pulling my underwear off roughly. He kneels between my legs, looking down at me, and his eyes stare directly into mine for a few seconds, his gaze hot, as though I can actually feel it.
"You are so gorgeous like this," he whispers, then casually reaches out to finger me gently. It's a tickle more than anything, and I move my hips to try to get him to touch me harder. "You know the rules," he says. "Did I say you could move?"
I shake my head, unable to speak. I have never in my life felt desire like this, as though I'll die if I don't get release from Julian. And I know he knows that's how I'm feeling, the lifting of one corner of his mouth giving him away.
He pulls his fingers out of me, puts them into his mouth. "You taste so good, Lia." He caresses me with one finger, inserting it halfway inside of me then pulling it out and bringing it to my lips. "Taste yourself," he says. "Open your mouth."
I do, sucking on his finger, tasting my own salty moisture, hearing his breath hitch as I move my tongue against his finger.
With his fingers wet from my mouth, he touches me between my legs again, gently at first, then more firmly, rubbing my clit in a circular pattern, then moving his finger inside of me once more. He repeats this a few times until I'm throbbing, my body unable to lie still.
"Julian," I whisper. "I think I'm ready."
"Ready for what?" He stops moving his hand and looks at me intently.
"Ready for you. For you to be inside of me."
"No, Lia. Trust me when I say I want nothing more than to bury myself inside you. But we're not doing that today."
"But . . . "
"Don't argue with me."
"OK," I whimper.
He moves back between my legs, then pushes them gently apart. "Open up for me, Lia." I slowly start to spread my thighs, but he's impatient, pushing my legs apart quickly, leaving me panting in excitement. I like when he takes control, when he tells me what to do and doesn't always wait for me to comply. I don't care if I shouldn't; it's hot, and I can't wait for whatever is going to happen next. "More," he says, and I open my legs as wide as I can. I am completely spread for him, every inch of my pussy and ass on view. He stares at me, transfixed.
"I love you like this, Lia. I can see every single bit of you. I can even see exactly how wet you are right now," he says, reaching out and touching my swollen lips, slick with my desire.
"Julian," I moan.
"It's so hot when you say my name like that."
"I want you so bad."
"I can tell. Do you want to come now?"
I nod.
"Say it, Lia."
"I want to come now."
"Baby, I'm going to use my tongue to make you come so hard. Would you like that?"
"Yes," I say, or at least I think I do. I'm too dizzy with desire to be sure.
As soon as I feel the warmth of his breath inside my thighs, I know it won't take long for him to keep his word. My body is so ready, so open and wet, and his tongue, when it finally touches my clit, is firm and unrelenting. While his tongue focuses on my clit, his fingers play with my wetness, moving in and out. I have never felt anything like this, anything as good as this in my life. It's as if my entire existence has been spent merely waiting for this moment, when my body finally experiences the most exquisite physical sensation ever. It's so good I almost don't want to come, want, instead, to prolong this feeling for as long as possible. But it's no use. After just a few minutes I feel the tension building in my stomach, my thighs clenching as the intensity builds. Higher and higher the pleasure rises, my breathing quickening, moans uttering unbidden from my mouth, while Julian picks up his pace.
When I come it's like nothing before, so intense that I actually scream out, then mutter "Oh. God. Julian," over and over as my body continues contracting in waves of pleasure, slower and slower, until I finally lie still. I literally feel like I can't move, like if a fire suddenly erupted in this room I wouldn't be able to get out, my body so relaxed and heavy that nothing could spur me into action.
The bed is so warm and soft, and as my body stills and my breath becomes even again, I sigh deeply and open my eyes. Julian's staring down at me, a grin on his face. I smile back.
"Lia?" he asks. "You OK?"
I manage to nod and smile back at him.
"You know," he says casually, tracing the side of my hip with one finger, "nobody else is ever going to make you come like that."
"You sound awfully confident."
"Can you imagine it being better?" he whispers into my ear.
I reach up and run my fingers through his wavy hair, the way I imagine doing when we're in class or around Vanessa, all those times when he's off limits. "No," I say simply. It's the truth. I can't imagine it being better. For a second before I can push the thought away, it occurs to me that if my first time doing all th
ese things is so good, aren't I just being set up for disappointment later? I hate to think about a time after Julian, but I'm only a freshman, and he's a senior and graduating soon. It's ridiculous to think that we'll somehow end up together forever. There are bound to be other guys in my life, but the thought of that, of anyone measuring up, makes me feel scared. And sad. Ugh, I say to myself. Stop.
As if he senses my thoughts turning darker, Julian kisses my neck right under my ear, moving his lips and tongue slowly and softly until I feel myself becoming turned on again. His hand strays to my right nipple, which he teases with his fingers until it's so hard it almost hurts, moving next to the other one. I draw in breaths slowly, my head arching back automatically as the sensations grow inside.
"Wait," I say, sitting up. We're next to each other, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"What?"
"I wanted to . . . you know."
Julian tilts his head, and a wicked smile appears on his face.
"No. I don't know, Lia. What did you want to do?"
I know he knows. Or at least I suspect he does. He's going to make me say it, like he always does, and I don’t know if I can find the words or the courage to say them out loud.
"Make you feel good?" It's a question, my voice is soft and shy.
"How would you like to do that, Lia?" Those eyes. So green and deep, and that mouth, bent up in a smile at my embarrassment. "I want to give you . . . I want to put it in my mouth."
"What do you want to put in your mouth?" He licks his lips as he says that; his stare is so intense.
"Why are you making me say it out loud?"
He hesitates, then says, "Hearing you say the precise things you want to do is one of the biggest turn-ons I've ever experienced, Lia. Dirty words? Out of your mouth? I think I could come just listening to you."
"Oh."
There's a long silence. Slowly, I reach out and put my hand under his T-shirt and on his stomach.
"Stop," he says, putting his hand on mine to keep it from moving. "Say it first. Say what you want to do to me."
"I want to put your . . . dick. In my mouth." I feel so shy saying it. I know I'm blushing, but the hissing sound he makes takes away any reservations I have. He removes his hand from on top of mine, and I trace circles on his bare stomach. My fingers trail down the faint line of hair that travels down . . . there. Even in my head it's hard to think of the right words to say! I run my fingers down that line until I reach the top of his jeans, and then I feel along the top of them, where the denim meets his skin. He shifts on the bed and utters a low groan. I look up into his eyes.