Authors: Monica Murphy
I’m scared but I’m not. Owen has been so patient with me, I know he won’t be too rough or quick. He wants me to feel good. He’s told me that time and time again. It’s why he wouldn’t let me touch him when we first went into his room. He’d wanted the moment to be all about me and my orgasm and how good he could make me feel.
He wanted me ready, he said. He wanted this to be easier for me.
What he wants … he wants for me.
I spread my legs for him and he nudges his hips between them, the head of his erection brushing against my center. I’m slick down there from his earlier attention and I close my eyes, almost embarrassed by my own body.
“Damn, Chels, you’re fucking soaked for me,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding along my folds, teasing me before he inserts one long, perfect finger deep inside.
All my embarrassment disappears with his words. I spread my legs wider and hook one leg over his hip again, just like he’d positioned me a few minutes ago. I’m completely open to him and he moans against my neck, thrusting his erection against me slowly. It all feels so good, so wondrously right, and then he’s right there. Nudging against me, the very tip of him entering my body for the first time.
I stiffen up all over, feeling like I’m going to shatter.
“Baby.” He runs his hand over my hair, then cups my chin, tilting my face up. I open my eyes and stare at him, my heart racing for a different reason now. Fear of the unknown has left me quivering. “Don’t be scared. Relax.”
Nodding, I close my eyes tight, breathing slowly through my mouth. He drops tiny kisses along my neck, his lips light, his touch fleeting, just as I like it. His big hands are on my breasts, his thumbs tracing my nipples, his hips moving against mine languidly, and I lose myself. Let my mind float. Let my thoughts be free.
And then he’s entering me. Slow, so slow. Just a nudge, a gentle push, the head of his erection broaching my body, and I let my thighs fall open. A willing captive to his body as he pins me in place.
“Put your other leg around me,” he commands, and I do so, a thrill moving down my spine at the dark tone of his voice. “Relax, baby, this might hurt.”
He presses forward, inch by thick inch, impaling me with his length. A gasp escapes me at the sharp pinch of pain and I close my eyes and tense my body, my muscles shaking I’m so rigid.
“Relax, Chels. I’m gonna make this so good for you—it’s gonna be unbelievable,” he whispers close to my ear. “Fuck, you feel amazing. Hot and tight. Just let it happen, baby. Trust me.”
I trust him. I do. A ragged breath escapes me and I force my body to slowly relax. His hips rock, his erection pushes forward, and then he’s inside me, thick and hot and throbbing. Filling me to bursting.
We move together, our bodies united, our limbs entwined, our mouths fused. He’s kissing me, moving inside of me, pulling almost all the way out before he pushes back inside, and I open my eyes to find him watching me, his gaze so brilliantly green I’m momentarily dazzled.
“You’re beautiful. You know that?” he asks, pressing his forehead to mine.
“You make me feel beautiful,” I admit, because it’s true. No one has ever treated me like Owen has. I feel safe with him. I trust him. He makes me laugh. He makes me want.
I think I’m falling in love with him.
I’ve had sex. Lots and lots of it. I would be embarrassed to tell Chelsea I was only fourteen my first time. Hell, Fable would die if she knew this, especially since it happened when I was under her watch. Mom was long gone, Fable was with Drew, and I snuck off with Wade to meet up with two girls from our history class. Girls we knew liked to smoke and party.
Girls we fucked in a bathroom at a public park not too far down the street from Wade’s house.
Not a proud moment. None of my sexual encounters would be what I’d classify as proud moments. What can I say? I was young and dumb and horny. Only thinking with the thing between my legs, versus the thing that I’m supposed to be using when I’m thinking.
Never, ever did I allow my heart into the equation. Another embarrassing admission: I never felt anything for those girls. The majority of them are nameless. Faceless. They could have been anyone. It’s not like I’ve been with hundreds of girls but for a while, there was an endless stream of them. All of them interchangeable, not a one of them special.
Until I met Chelsea.
We’re wrapped all around each other and I feel like my body is permanently fused with hers. Her hair is spread out all over my pillow; her scent is embedded in my skin. I can still taste her on my tongue, still hear the little whimpers and whispers of my name when I made her come with my lips and fingers.
She was being quiet so Wade wouldn’t hear us. She worried about that. She worries about everything. Her image. What she’s doing, how helpless she feels when she doesn’t understand what to do. Sex leaves her feeling helpless. She doesn’t have to say it.
I can tell.
But I’m here to catch her. Here to teach her whatever she wants to learn. It all just comes naturally because after all, sex is an instinctive act. The most basic act two human beings can commit. And I can see that happening within her. Her hips are lifting, her legs wrapped tight around me. My cock feels like it’s going to burst, and it takes everything within me not to just heave two sharp thrusts inside her tight little body and come.
I take it slow, though. I promised I would. I’m patient, infinitely patient with Chels.
Because she’s worth it.
She’s clutching my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, and I welcome the bite of pain. I was so damn afraid I’d hurt her when I first entered her body and I’m pretty sure I did, though I definitely don’t think she’s hurting now. Whatever pain she can inflict on me I welcome, because then we’re equal.
And I like being equal with her. With Chelsea. I like opening my eyes and watching her, learning a rhythm with her, our bodies in sync, my hands mapping her skin, learning just how to touch her to drive her wild.
She’s mine. She might not know it yet, but I can’t stand the thought of letting her go. The nameless, faceless girls—they’re things of my past. Banished forever. I don’t want to be with anyone else.
I just want to be with her.
“Owen.” Her soft, breathless voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I drop a kiss on her forehead before swooping down and kissing her lips. She can barely keep up, her mouth slack from her out-of-control breathing; her breasts are crushed against my chest and her hands slide down my back, until they settle on my ass and she’s pressing me deeper. “You feel so good.”
Fuck, so do you,
I want to scream at her. Too good. Too fucking good. She’s too good for me. She’s definitely worth it, but I’m not worthy. How did I end up with this girl, anyway? One minute I don’t want to be near her because she’s trying to force me to do something I most definitely don’t want to do, and the next I’m chasing after her like a dog in desperate need of attention. I wanted her attention. All of it. All the time.
I still do.
“You close?” I ask, my voice rough, my entire body wanting to be rough. I need to ease her into this so I don’t hurt her, but I’m desperate to unleash everything I have on her. Fuck her hard. Drive her out of her mind. Make her as addicted to me as I am to her.
She offers this tiny little nod and squeezes her eyes shut, as if she’s focusing every bit of concentration within her to make herself come. Her teeth sink into her poor, ravaged lower lip and I bend down, suck her lip between mine and give it a gentle pull. Lick it. Savor her taste, the whisper of breath that gusts across my mouth. I swallow it, wishing I could swallow her.
I’m a man possessed—overwhelmed and confused and full of joy and scared out of my ever-lovin’ mind. What’s happening between us, I’ve never experienced before. I think I know what Chelsea’s feeling and it’s scary as fuck.
But at least we’re doing it together.
Hesitating, I remain still and inhale sharply, goose bumps washing over my skin. A sure sign I’m about ready to blow, though she’s not ready yet. I can tell she’s not. The familiar tingling has formed at the base of my spine, insistent as all fuck, and my balls literally ache.
“Don’t stop,” she urges. The sound of her voice kills me and I drop my forehead to hers once more, trying to gain some control.
“I gotta stop,” I tell her. “If I don’t, I’m going to come. And you’re not ready.”
“I’m ready.” She runs her fingers through my hair, and I really fucking love it when she does that. Her touch feels so good. I want to lean into her hand every time, like I’m a cat or something. “Do what you want, Owen. You won’t hurt me. I’m not made of glass.”
She’s giving me permission to use her. And I don’t really want to, because she’s different. What we share together is so different from what I’ve done with other girls. “But …”
“I already came.” She streaks her fingers down my cheek as shock courses through me over what she said. Look at my tentative Chelsea, saying I made her come.
“I want you to come again,” I tell her just before I crush my mouth to hers. I increase my pace, using her because she gave me permission, but I’m also going to make sure she gets off, too.
Reaching between our bodies, I brush my fingers against her clit. She hisses against my lips and I continue stroking her, keeping time with my thrusts, keeping time with my breaths. With hers. She shudders and moans, licks my lips with her tongue as if she can’t get enough, and then she’s thrusting her head back against the pillow. Her perfect neck is arched, her pink lips parted, but no sound is coming out beyond her sexy little pants of air.
I push harder, wanting her to reach for it. Needing her to reach for it. Because then it’s too late. I’ve found it, my need consumes me as I push inside her once, hard, my orgasm taking over, washing over my skin, my thoughts, my brain, my everything.
Fuck
, I’m done.
Spent.
She’s shuddering all around me, too, her body clenching around my cock, milking every last drop out of me until I can do nothing but collapse on top of her, exhausted. I think I shouted her name out loud but I can’t be sure. Wade probably heard if I did.
I really don’t fucking care.
Chelsea’s arms are around me, her mouth at my ear. She’s coasting her hands down my back, up and down, scraping her nails on my sensitive skin, and I shiver in her embrace, press my lips against her neck. She tastes amazing. She’s whispering something in my ear that I can’t really hear since my head is still buzzing, my ears ringing.
Fuck
. That was intense.
“I’m too heavy,” I tell her, bracing my hands flat on the mattress so I can lift away from her, but her hands press hard on my back, keeping me in place.
“A couple more minutes,” she murmurs, her voice soft, her lids downcast. As if she’s feeling shy again and well … fuck that.
I kiss her. A fierce, possessive kiss that’s full of tongue and heat and demand. I need her to know she doesn’t have to be shy with me any longer. We’ve done everything.
But she doesn’t know everything. Not about Mom. How Des deals in my fucking house. How I’m one of Des’s clients. And I smoked pot and was high as hell when I gave her an orgasm in a no-name hotel in a no-name city.
Shame washes over me and this time I do pull out of her embrace, offering her a brief smile when I find her studying me with concern etched all over her beautiful, flushed face.
“Where are you going?” she asks, sitting up, completely naked and comfortable with it. I stare at her breasts, those pink nipples that match her lips that match the rose I gave her, and I want to climb right back into bed. Clutch her close and never let her go, pretend that my problems don’t exist and will never bother me again.
Never bother
us
again.
But that’s just wishful thinking. I gotta get the hell out of here. At least for five minutes. I need some clarity.
I need a fucking hit.
“I’ll be back. Gotta get rid of this.” I peel the condom off and pinch the top, keeping it in my hand as I make my escape out of the bedroom, still naked, not caring. I dart across the hall into the bathroom and slam the door, flick the lock. Dispose of the condom, then search through the cabinet drawers until I find what I’m looking for.
A joint. We keep them everywhere in this house. I mean, what the hell? Was someone gonna sit on the toilet and pass the time by taking a few hits? I wouldn’t put it past Wade to try something like that.
The idea disgusts me.
I
should disgust me because here I am, hiding away from Chelsea, contemplating smoking a joint rather than going back inside my room immediately so I can hold her close and show her how much she means to me.
I stare at the joint I hold pinched between my fingers. I can smell it, that strong, skunk-like scent that I love. Used to love.
Fuck it
. Still love.
There’s a lighter in the drawer, too. Of course. I pull it out and flick it once. Twice. Five fucking times before it finally catches and I bring the joint to my lips. Light the burned-out tip, hear the subtle crackle of the paper catching fire. Glancing up, I catch myself in the reflection of the mirror. Naked and sweaty and about to suck in a bunch of smoke that’ll burn my lungs and clear my brain.
I don’t want to clear my brain. It’s full of Chelsea.
The lighter drops to the counter with a loud clatter and I stub the joint out in the sink, then rinse it out. I drop the half-smoked joint into the toilet and flush, watch as it disappears down the drain forever.
If my friends caught me flushing a joint they’d be pissed. But I don’t care. I need to get this shit out of my life. I need to focus. I need to do the right thing.
I need to prove myself worthy of Chelsea. But no matter how much our relationship means to me, it also scares me.
Scares me so much I’m afraid I might do the wrong thing. And once I do that, I can never go back.
I’m attending a college football game for the first time ever. Only took me three years to do it. Of course, I never had a reason to attend one before. I hated sports. I kind of still do. I can never understand exactly what’s going on down on the field and that drives me crazy. I like knowing what’s happening at all times.