Authors: Monica Murphy
Show him that I want to give him my body—and my heart—freely.
With shaking fingers I untie the belt and push the robe open ever so slightly, revealing a shadow of myself. My breathing’s erratic, my heart is racing, and Owen scrambles up so he’s sitting, his back against the headboard, his hot gaze locked on me, encouraging me to continue without saying a word.
So I do. I thrust my shoulders back, stand up straighter, and push the robe off, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap at my feet. Until I’m standing there next to the bed, completely naked and on display in front of a guy for the very first time in my life.
“Fuck, Chelsea.” He sounds pained and he shifts, his hand going between his legs as if he has to readjust himself and I swear, I break out in a blush all over my body. My skin is hot, between my legs I’m throbbing, and I …
Don’t know what to do.
“Come here,” he says, his voice low, the sound sending a fresh wave of tingles along my skin. He reaches out his hand and I take it, our fingers entwining as I get on the bed, which squeaks when he pulls me in closer so I have no choice but to climb on top of him.
Much like we sat together in the backseat of his car that first night we kissed, I’m straddling him, though this time I’m completely naked and there’s only a sheet and a blanket between us since he’s beneath the covers. His arms band around me, his hands spanning across my back, and I feel so exposed, unsure. Exhilarated.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs just before he devours me in the most consuming kiss of my life. He tastes like toothpaste. His hands are branding my back as he presses me close and my breasts are pushed firmly against his chest. The skin-on-skin contact feels so good I almost want to weep.
“So are you,” I whisper when we break apart, his mouth at my neck, my hands skimming over his bared chest. I feel nothing but muscle and heat as I scratch my nails over his skin. His pecs are hard, as are his nipples, and when I rake my nails over them, he hisses in a sharp breath, then kisses me so fiercely, so deep, I swear I see stars.
His lips are firm, delicious, and precise. He kisses me as if he knows exactly what I like, knows exactly what I want. His tongue slides into my open mouth and dances delicately with mine, sending a flurry of shivers throughout my naked body. I clutch him close, devouring him right back, and I hope he knows how much this moment, this kiss, in a dark hotel room with minimal barriers between us, means to me.
I grow slick between my legs with every thrust of his tongue, my nipples hard little points as they brush against his chest. I rope my arms around his neck and bury my hands in his damp hair, holding his mouth to mine, deepening our kiss even further if that’s possible, as I tighten my bent legs at his hips.
“Chelsea.” He whispers my name against my neck after he breaks apart from our kiss, his lips sliding down the length of my neck, his hands resting lightly at my waist. “You feel so fucking good.”
“Please. Touch me,” I encourage, shocked at my demand. But here in the dark, in a strange, unknown place, doing wonderful, unknown things, I feel strong. Bold. Different.
I like it.
His hands skim down over my hips, down farther until he’s cupping my backside. A gasp escapes me as he strokes me, slow and sure, and his mouth is at my ear, panting, sounding so desperate a shiver moves through me. “Your ass has driven me crazy since the first time I met you,” he admits, his voice rough.
I smile and lean into his palms, his fingers so close to the achy spot between my legs I will die if he doesn’t touch me there soon. “Really?”
“It’s fucking perfection, Chels.” He skims his fingers along sensitive skin that no one else has ever touched before and a whimper forms in my throat. “Absolute perfection.”
I love it when he calls me Chels. I love it more when he says such sweet, delicious things. No one has ever called me perfect before. And the way Owen touches me, so reverently, so sweetly, I know he means it.
His mouth burns a trail of kisses down my neck, along my collarbone, and I lean into him, my hands slipping to his shoulders so I can hold onto him tight. His lips and tongue are like magic, making my skin spark and heat wherever they touch. He grips my butt tighter, lifting so I have no choice but to lift as well.
And then he’s pressing his lips to the valley between my breasts, skimming, tasting, licking. I tilt my head down, my hair falling around my face as I watch him, fascinated with what he’s doing to me. How my body is reacting to his every touch.
His mouth travels to my left breast and he pulls away the slightest bit, staring at me. My nipple tightens when he breathes over it and then he’s wrapping his lips around the hard bit of flesh, sucking, licking, driving me wild.
Oh God.
I want to say it out loud but I press my lips together and lean into him, my arms winding back around his neck and squeezing him tight. The sheet is bunched between us, pooling in Owen’s lap, and I grind down on him, feeling the unmistakable thrust of his erection against me.
“Jesus,” he mutters, lifting me away from him with one arm bulging with muscle so he can push the sheet out of the way. Now there’s nothing between us but his boxer briefs and I fall against him, wrapping my legs around his hips, slick and hot against his cotton-covered erection. I want more. I want it all, but he’s holding me back. I can feel him pushing me away, his breaths harsh, his mouth against my forehead as he holds me loosely in his arms.
“I don’t want to go too fast,” he whispers. “You gotta tell me, Chelsea.”
“Tell you.” I swallow hard when I feel his mouth move along my jaw, his teeth nipping my flesh. “Tell you what?”
He cups my chin, forcing me to look at him. I blink, my vision refocusing so I meet his smoldering gaze. His mouth is swollen, his eyes slumberous, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Owen look so sexy, so achingly beautiful. I want to touch his face, trace his every feature, but then his words penetrate my lust-filled brain and I’m left gaping at him.
“Are you a virgin?”
I wait for her answer, all the words I could ever say to ease her worries clogged in my throat. She stares at me, my bold, beautiful princess gone in an instant, replaced with my wide-eyed, lip-chewing, nervous Chelsea.
I’m familiar with this version but I much preferred the girl with no boundaries, the one who begged me. That had been hot. And I know she’s still there, buried beneath the nerves and the expectations. I just need to coax her back out.
“I …” She breathes deep and closes her eyes, drops her head so her forehead is pressed against mine. “Yes,” she admits, her voice small. “You’re my first.”
I knew it. I’ve always known it, pretty much from the first moment I met her, but to actually hear her say the words confirming my suspicions sends a bolt of possessiveness throughout my entire body. It’s electric, this feeling. Vibrating beneath my skin, making me shake, and I tighten my arms around her, hold her close. Move my head so I can whisper in her ear, “We gotta make this good for you, Chels.”
“It
is
good,” she whispers back. “So, so good.”
Closing my eyes, I hold her, convincing myself to calm the fuck down. I’m not doing this. I’m not fucking her in a hotel room in an unknown city, Chelsea still edged with that hint of sadness that had consumed her earlier. I don’t care how bold she is, how much she wants it, how good she feels, her naked body pressed against mine.
I’m high. I might not remember this clearly. Worse, I might mess up somehow and I could never, ever forgive myself for that.
“I just want you to touch me.” She sounds restless, frustrated, and I lean away from her so I can look at her pretty face. Smoothing my hand over her hair, I push the stray strands away from her cheeks, my gaze locking with hers.
“I want to touch you, too,” I admit, letting my eyes drop to her chest. God, she’s perfect. I’ve never liked big or fake boobs, and I feel like Chelsea’s were made just for me. Unable to stop myself, I curl my hand around her breast and squeeze, circling my thumb around her rosy nipple.
Her pretty little nipple reminds me of her middle name. The poem I wrote for her. How I could reenact that poem right here, right now. Slip my hand between her legs, searching those pretty pink folds, and have her crying out my name, shattering in an instant …
“Lie back,” I tell her, removing my hand from her chest so I can guide her where I want her.
She goes willingly, her body trembling, her eyes wide as she stares up at me. I lean over and kiss her, taking it deep and hot in an instant, hoping she’ll lose her head so she’s not so focused on the moment and worrying what’s about to happen to her.
“Have you ever touched yourself, Chels?” I move so I’m the one straddling her now, my mouth on her breasts, my lips wrapped around one nipple, then another. She arches into me, a breathy little moan escaping her, and my cock is hard, heavy and aching as it presses against my briefs, desperate to get free.
Damn it
, I can’t take off my underwear. The moment I do, I’m done for. I’ll be inside her so fast she won’t know what happened.
“Hey.” I lightly bite her nipple, making her yelp, and she glares up at me, shock written all over her face. “I asked you a question.”
“A question I’m not going to answer, Owen.” She slings her arm over her eyes and huffs out a breath. Indicating that yes, indeed, she has touched herself, and that particular image pops into my brain with so much force I have to take an imaginary crowbar to it and pry it out of there before I get too distracted.
“Hmm, that tells me a lot.” I let my hand wander down the length of her body, trying my best to pay close attention to all the signs, the indications of what she likes, what makes her crazy, what doesn’t do anything for her. She prefers a gentle touch. I’ve discovered that over the last couple of weeks, every time I’ve had her in my arms. A skim of my nails along her skin, or I’ll rub circles in her neck, along her shoulders, kiss her softly, taking it deeper, licking her neck …
I keep my touch light, running my fingers along her arm, across her stomach, back up to circle her breasts, her nipples. She holds her breath, releasing it in a shuddery exhale before she holds it again, and I smile at her, loving how strongly my touch makes her react.
“Breathe, Chels.” I dip my head and lick her nipple, making her gasp. “The only way you can enjoy this is if you’re breathing.”
“Trust me, I’m enjoying it, Owen.” Her voice trembles and she closes her eyes when my fingers map the sweet curve of her stomach, circle the slight dip of her belly button. Her skin is so fucking soft. Everywhere. “So, so much.”
She spreads her legs the slightest bit and my hand wanders farther, grazing her pubic hair, the heat of her branding my hand and I haven’t even touched her there yet. I can smell her, though, lemony sweet, unique and musky, the scent of sex and woman and Chelsea.
I slip one finger down, encountering wetness. Heat. So much heat. I go farther and groan when I find her slick and creamy. Hot and wet. I search her folds at the same time I fuse my mouth with hers and swallow her cry.
She moves her hips against my finger and I add another, then my thumb, which I use to circle her clit. I keep it slow, my kiss slow, my brain slow as I bring her closer. Closer still.
Responsive. She’s so responsive. I never want this to stop. I want to remember this moment forever and I’m afraid it’ll slip right out of my brain when I fall asleep afterward. Sometimes when I’m high, I forget. And the shit I smoked earlier had been good. Too good. The kind of good that’ll make you forget everything, because that’s what you usually want to do when you smoke weed.
But I don’t want to forget any of this. This moment is one of the most important of my life. I’m about to make Chelsea come for the first time by my hand.
Not necessarily a moment I can talk about in public, but it’s mine. All mine. And I don’t ever want to forget it.
“Owen.” She breathes my name across my lips, the sound of her voice sending a spiral of heat throughout my blood, and I lick her lips, thrust my tongue in her mouth, silencing her.
I push my index finger inside her, her tight, velvety hot flesh clamping all around me. God, she would feel so amazing around my cock. Too damn amazing. I’d probably come in an instant.
I could almost come just thinking about it.
She moves against my hand, thrusting her hips, arching her back, trying to send me deeper. I add another finger, my thumb brushing her clit back and forth, over and over, and she lifts her hips higher, her feet planted on the mattress, her legs spread.
I’m watching her, fascinated by how she reacts to my touch. She’s chanting my name, saying shit I can’t even understand, and I hook my finger deep inside her, press my thumb hard against her clit. She stills, her lips parted, her eyes squeezed shut.
And then she’s coming, her entire body shaking. I can feel her orgasm to her very depths, can feel the trembling and rhythmic pulsating deep within her body, all around my fingers.
It’s like a fucking miracle. Her body responds naturally, beautifully. She sinks to the mattress, limp and sated, still trembling, her legs spread wide and all that pink, slick goodness still on display.
Hell
. If I could sink deep inside her right now and lose myself, I so would.
But I won’t. For once in my life, I’m not going to be selfish. I’ll be the giver but not the taker. No matter how difficult it is.
Slowly I withdraw my fingers from her body, leaning in and giving her a kiss before I bring my fingers to my lips and smell her lingering scent. Taste her.
Next time I make her come, I think I should do it with my mouth.
“Oh my God, did you just lick your fingers?” She releases a shuddery sigh and I touch her lips with my hand, trace them with my index finger. The very one that had just been buried deep inside her.
“I promise, next time I’m going down on you. Taste yourself,” I say, feeling like a dirty bastard but I don’t care. Heat flares in my gut as she tentatively darts her tongue out and licks, her expression full of curiosity.