He pulled back away from me and searched my face, his eyes moving back and forth between my eyes, searching for… anger? Hurt? Feelings of betrayal?
None of that here.
I only felt desire.
“…was that… are you…” he whispered.
“Take off your clothes,” I whispered back.
66
He didn’t need to be told twice.
He rolled off the bed and stood up –
“Slowly,” I whispered. “I want to watch.”
He stopped and stared down at me in the candlelight, then nodded like he was dazed.
You know how hot guys in the movies take off their shirts? They reach up behind their backs and grab the fabric and pull it over their heads, and the whole shirt lifts up from their abs, and it looks really sexy?
Derek did that, and it was even hotter.
He did it slowly, just like I told him to.
He reached behind him and began to pull his shirt over his head.
I watched in silent awe as the fabric slid up over his stomach, revealing his abs. They were amazing. Like a real-life Calvin Klein underwear ad, but better. Deep shadows ran between the muscles, outlining him like some sort of Rembrandt or Caravaggio painting. (Thank you, Art History 101.)
I couldn’t help myself. I had to reach out and touch them.
My fingers glided over his flawless skin, and I could feel the ridges of his muscles beneath my touch. He groaned as my cool skin glided over hot flesh, and I could feel the muscles twitch in ecstasy beneath my fingertips.
The shirt slid past his ribs and across his massive chest, and the reality of him was better than any fantasy. Firm, massive pecs… tiny, dark nipples… the lightest dusting of chest hair, just enough to make it obvious he didn’t shave. His tattoos were dark shapes across his skin, barely visible in the candlelight.
He tossed aside the shirt and put his large, rugged hands on his belt –
I stopped him with just a touch of my fingers.
He looked down at me, tortured, hungry.
Please, PLEASE, we can’t stop now! he seemed to be begging.
We aren’t, I said to him with my eyes.
But I want to do it.
I knelt in front of him and put my lips against his body, not kissing him, just feeling the muscles beneath as I slid my mouth softly over his skin.
He tilted back his head and groaned.
I took his belt in my hands and unbuckled it… then undid the top button. They were button-fly jeans… so I grasped one side in each hand and pulled hard.
Fr-fr-fr-fr-frip all the buttons came undone, and his pants were open before me.
I could feel they were caught on something beneath – something large – so I carefully nudged and pulled until he was free.
He was wearing black boxers, and I could see the outline of his erection beneath the cloth, straining and tugging with a mind of its own. I touched my fingers to it tentatively, and realized with shock that the cloth was wet. He’d drenched them with pre-cum, he’d gotten so turned on when he was touching me.
Beneath the damp cloth, he was rock hard. And big. Bigger than I was used to, anyway. My mouth watering, I gently pulled the waistband of his boxers out and slid them down.
Ohhhhhh God.
It was perfect.
It was beautiful.
Long and thick, with a big swollen head, the tip gleaming wetly in the candlelight.
I reached out and touched my fingers to the scorching-hot skin –
Derek grunted as his cock bucked beneath my hand.
I hurriedly tugged the underwear and the jeans the rest of the way down. He helped and stepped out of them, until he was standing there completely naked, his gorgeous cock standing straight up at attention, his muscled legs like something Michelangelo might have sculpted –
And his ass.
If Shanna could have only seen his ass.
I actually made him move to the side so his hip was facing me, and I ran one hand over that perfect, absolutely amazing bubble butt. I could feel the heat as I cupped my palm over his cheek – could feel the firm muscle filling up my grasp.
Jesus.
I looked at the opposite side of his body and saw that large, lovely, thick cock jutting into the air, pulsing with his heartbeat.
Then I looked up at his face and discovered he was grinning down at me.
“Everything okay?” he whispered.
“Uh huh,” I nodded.
“Now for you,” he whispered.
He bent over and tugged at the hem of my shirt. I lifted my arms and let him pull it over my head. As he threw the shirt over on Shanna’s unused bed, I reached behind me to undo my bra –
“No,” he said. “I want to do it.”
I watched as he kneeled down in front of me on the ground so that our faces were almost level.
He put one of his hands against one bra strap and slowly nudged it aside, so that it fell off my shoulder… and then he did the same with the other. The entire time, he looked at the swell of my breasts, entranced. It was like he was slowly unwrapping a present, and wanted to savor every second.
Then he reached behind me and his face was against mine, and we kissed as his hands moved to my bra strap and unhooked it expertly.
But he didn’t let the bra fall.
He kept holding onto it, keeping it in place. He bent down, his chin in my cleavage, and began to kiss the tops of my breasts. Slowly, slowly, he lowered the edge of the bra, inch by inch, kissing one breast, then the other, until the edge of the cups slipped past my nipples. His lips found the right nipple and he took it in his warm, wet mouth and sucked and licked until I gasped with pleasure.
Only then did he let the bra fall completely away. As he switched his mouth to the left breast, his rough hands moved to my right, cupped it, fondled it, gently rolled the wet nipple between his rough fingers as I whimpered and grasped his hair with my hands.
Then suddenly he was pushing me, lowering me onto my back. I stared up at him as he stood, stared at his cock jutting into the air. He bent over my body and hooked his fingers not only into my jeans, but also through the top of my underwear and pulled both down in one fluid motion. I wriggled my hips to help him along, until I was lying there completely naked on the bed.
He used his strong hands to shift me around so I was lying lengthways on the mattress, moving me as easily as I might rearrange a pillow. Then he fumbled with his discarded pants on the floor and pulled out a foil wrapper from a pocket. He was about to tear into it –
“Wait,” I said.
He stopped and looked at me like Oh no, please don’t say ‘stop’ now –
“Lie down,” I whispered.
He frowned, but lay down next to me as I scooted as far back on the narrow bed as I could. Then I took the foil wrapper from him and put it under the pillow.
“What are you doing?” he asked, confused.
“You got to touch me… now I get to touch you,” I breathed in his ear.
He stared into my eyes as I traced my fingers over his chest… circled his tiny, erect nipples… then traveled across his abs, down around his hips, over his thighs. Every so often his eyes would roll back in his head and he’d groan, and then he’d open them again and continue looking at me like he was caught somewhere between pain and bliss.
I just enjoyed the sensations of touching his taut, firm body… feeling the hard sheets of muscle beneath my fingers…
And then I reached where I really wanted to go.
My fingers brushed through soft curls and nudged up against his rigid shaft. I put my fingers around him in a ring, encircling him.
God he was thick… just the sensation of him filling up my hand was making me wet again…
“Unnnh,” he groaned as my hand traveled up slowly, gently, to the head. I rubbed my fingers in his pre-cum and stroked softly downward, trailing wetness along his cock.
My fingers broke their ring-shaped ‘O’ and cupped
his tight sack… tickled his balls with the lightest touch of my nails… and then ringed around his girth again and slowly moved upwards.
“Oh Jesus, Kaitlyn,” he moaned, and screwed his eyes shut in delicious frustration.
I traveled back up to the swollen head, wetting my fingers with his juices, and stroked back down, slowly, then back up, slowly, over and over, until he was soaked and slippery, and my hand could move with almost no friction at all. I increased the pressure of my grip slightly, moving up a little faster, massaging the sensitive head and making him groan, then slipping down to his base, then back up.
I must have done that for at least five minutes, gliding my hand up and down and around that thick, gorgeous cock, feeling his skin soft as silk, wet as my pussy, hot as a fever, and hard as steel beneath my touch.
Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. I pressed my upper body against his and sought his mouth.
He kissed me greedily as I moved my hand over his cock, wet and slippery, up and down, stroking him, faster, faster. He lowered his head to my breasts and sucked and licked and I moaned, and I was stroking him harder, firmer, faster, faster and then he cried out and his entire body tensed. I looked down just in time as I felt the first convulsions in my hand and saw the spurting jet of white milky come, hot and wet over my fingers as it splashed onto his taut, muscled stomach, over and over, a new spurt every second as his cock pulsed hard and thick in my hand.
“Oh Jesus oh Jesus oh Jesus,” he moaned as I continued to stroke him, letting up on the pressure, but still rubbing softly, my hand even wetter than before.
I kissed his lips and he kissed me back deeply, caressed my face and my hair as I slowly stroked him… slower… and then stopped.
67
I grabbed a couple of Kleenexes and wiped off my hand and then his stomach and cock. I loved the weight of it lolling there in my hand, not fully erect, but still thick and long and beautiful.
Then he pulled me down next to him on the bed and we kissed again. He pressed his body against mine, muscular and hot and slightly damp from where he had come. We lay there like that for four or five minutes, just kissing and making out and touching each other in the afterglow.
But when I felt him growing hard again, pressing against my stomach… when I felt his hand travel down to my thighs and touch me on my lips… I put my hand against his and broke away.
I shook my head ‘no.’
He stared at me. “What’s wrong?”
The buzz from the wine was gone.
The flood of hormones had temporarily abated.
And I wasn’t turned on enough – not yet, at least – to ignore what I was doing. Not a second time.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated, more insistent this time.
It was like I hadn’t been thinking about it all along, and now that I was, the dam came tumbling down. Silent tears spilled out of my eyes and streaked down my cheeks onto the bed.
“Oh, Kaitlyn – no… don’t,” he whispered tenderly, and cupped my face in his hands. “Please, don’t…”
I closed my eyes and smiled a little through the tears – a bitterly sad smile. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t… do this… I want to, but I can’t…”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I want to. That’s the problem.”
“Then do it.”
He reached to kiss me, but I turned my lips away.
“…I can’t…”
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he asked, “Because of him?”
I nodded ‘yes.’
The guilt was crushing me. Guilt over what I’d done… and what I still wanted to do… and the fact that if I could go back in time 30 minutes, I still would have done it all over again.
I broke down into sobs. “I’m sorry.”
I could hear the kindness in his voice, even though my eyes were closed. “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I have a LOT to be sorry for, I thought miserably.
“You must hate me,” I whispered.
“I can’t hate you – I could never hate you. I’m in love with you.”
“Stop being nice to me!” I wailed.
He chuckled. “Would it be easier if I was mean?”
“Yes!”
“Okay – grrrrr! You – grrrr!” he teased me, sounding like a cartoon dog.
I laughed through my tears. I couldn’t help it. “That doesn’t sound very mean.”
“I’ll try harder.”
I laughed again, then grew sad. “Why don’t you call me a bitch.”
“Because you’re not one,” he said softly. “You never promised me anything. You don’t owe me anything.”
The sweetness with which he said it made me break down sobbing again.
“Will you do one thing, though?” he asked.
“W-what.”
“Will you let me spend the night with you? Just sleeping here beside you?”
I shook my head. “No… I can’t…”
I knew I would give in again. I knew there was no way I could hold out against his touches, his kisses, his body.
“I promise you I won’t do anything again,” he whispered.
I looked at him reproachfully. “Like you promised before?”
He grinned. “Sorry about that.”
“No you’re not!” I said loudly, but with a certain amount of humor.
“No, I’m not,” he agreed. “But if it’s a choice between trying for sex again and having to leave you, then I swear to God, I won’t do anything. If you change your mind, then you’re going to have to make the first move. But otherwise, I swear on whatever you want me to swear on, I won’t do anything.”
I looked at him for a long time, wanting to trust him.
“…we have to get dressed,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Okay.”
“…all your clothes.”
He looked at me quizzically. “Why?”
“Because you’re too hot.”
He laughed out loud. “Okay, this is the first time ever in my life I wish I were a little uglier.”
I laughed with him. “I don’t.”
“But you have to get dressed, too. I can’t have you lying there naked, or even just in a t-shirt, and not totally want to feel you up.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
He sighed. “I can’t believe I even said that… ‘you have to get dressed, or I’ll feel you up’…”
I laughed and wiped away my tears. “You promised.”
He nodded. “And I’ll keep it. Unless you make the first move.”
“I won’t.”
He grinned. “We’ll see.”
I rolled my eyes at his confidence – but when he got up out of bed and I saw his naked body in the candlelight… saw his muscles, and the shadow etching them in relief… saw his gorgeous cock, now limp but still thick…
My mouth watered and my insides churned and I had to turn away.
“You can look now,” he said, and I turned around. He was back in his t-shirt and jeans…
…and he was staring lustfully at my breasts.
I liked it.
I liked him looking at me that way.
I wanted him to break his promise – I wanted him to come over and take me –
But I knew I couldn’t live with that guilt.
“Turn around,” I said.
“Really?” he asked, both exasperated and amused.
“Turn around.”
“You know, a few minutes ago, I was doing a whole lot crazier stuff than just looking – ”
“Turn around.”
He sighed theatrically, then turned around and crossed his arms. “Maaaan, I don’t never get to do nothin’…”
I laughed. “I think you got to do quite a bit.”
“I still want more.”
So do I.
But I didn’t say anything as I found a new – dry – pair of panties, pulled on my jeans, and pulled my shirt back over my head.
“Okay.”
He turned around and smiled at me. “Well… what do you want to do now?”
“Let’s just… go to sleep.”
“It’s pretty early.”
“I just want to lie here with you,” I whispered.
He nodded his head. “Okay.”
68
So now you know I lied – lied to you, lied to Shanna, lied to everyone – about having sex with Derek.
…sort of.
In the days and weeks that followed, I kept telling myself that I wasn’t any worse than Bill Clinton (Mr. ‘I did not have sex with that woman’).
Derek and I didn’t go all the way.
We didn’t even do oral.
It was just touching.
Incredibly erotic, sensual, and astoundingly hot touching… but just touching.
…right?
But I came to the conclusion that if Bill Clinton is your measuring stick in matters of sexual faithfulness, you really fucked up somewhere along the way.
69
I lay there for a long time in Derek’s arms as he spooned me like before.
I noticed this time that he quite conspicuously kept his pelvis from touching me.
I was glad.
Sort of.
…no, not really.
But I knew I couldn’t feel that thick, hard pressure against my body and hold back.
True to his word, he just held me. No touching, no caressing, no kissing, no nothing.
And I didn’t make a move on him… even though I knew what incredible delights lay beneath his clothes. Even though I knew I could just make the slightest motion, and then he would take it from there… and I could temporarily forget everything else, swept away by passion and ecstasy.
Rock Me Hard (The Rock Star's Seduction) Page 18