He groans again and then grabs my hand and drags me toward the entrance. His lips are on mine the minute we enter my apartment. We lose the shoes. I shove his shirt off his shoulders. My dress lands on the floor. We stumble around, kissing in a frenzy, as if this is our last opportunity to find the connection.
My apartment is small, a closet-sized studio, and James finds the twin bed in the corner immediately. He walks me backwards, his mouth on me, searching, discovering, worshiping.
He grazes my neck, my shoulder, my clavicle. All these parts of me are ablaze in the wake of his tongue and lips.
Our hands are everywhere. Frantic and wild, groping, teasing, squeezing. He’s dominant and somehow still gentle. No. Not gentle, caring.
It’s too much. What he does to me, but also what I can do to him, while he still controls himself. Barely hanging onto it, but it’s there. As if I’m in charge. As if he won’t unleash it unless I invite him. I don’t know what to do with such consideration.
“Sasha, I need you,” he groans. Is he asking for my consent? Giving me a chance to change my mind? Am I really in control here?
“Then take me, James, take me now,” I say, like I have anything to offer.
Everything goes still for a beat while he looks at me with awe. Bursting with all these feelings, I shed my bra and underwear and lay down, spreading my legs because that’s the only way I know how to please a man.
He doesn’t pounce. He studies me with hooded eyes and I grow shy, heat spreading across my face. I pull my knees back together.
James smiles. “Don’t hide from me, baby. You’re beautiful.” He pulls a condom from his back pocket, kicks down his jeans and wraps his impressive erection before kneeling on my small bed. The frame squeals in protest.
He pushes my knees apart. “So beautiful.” He lowers himself over me, his expression grave. “Sasha, I can’t wait.”
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer, searching for that earlier frenzy, so I can stop thinking, dim the conflicting emotions and just be in the moment.
Kissing me, he reaches between us and nudges my opening with his cock. I moan, writhing my hips, arching my back to get closer.
“Greedy girl.” He chuckles and then enters me, filling me to the hilt. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”
Oh, what those words do to me. He groans again and I can almost see in his eyes the moment when he loses control. He sets a punishing tempo and I love every minute of it.
He fucks me as if I was the only woman left in the world. Desperately seeking the release. I’m squirming and thrashing and demanding. I don’t even recognize myself. I am a greedy girl and it’s the first time for me.
I’m climbing up with intensity when he withdraws and I whimper, the loss so profound. James chuckles and flips me over, the mattress groaning. He hikes my hips up, so I’m on all fours and enters me again, filling me to the hilt.
He continues his devastating tempo, whispering words of praise that shatter me to pieces and complete me at the same time. When he snakes his hand around me and finds the bud of nerves, pinching it savagely, I cry out his name, hit by a freight train of an orgasm that keeps rolling over me. Only then he let go and follows me.
I’m still floating, high from the climax, when I realize what has just happened. I wasn’t a virgin, but in so many ways, James has become my first. My first lover. My first orgasm. My first satisfying sex.
He balances on his elbows, kissing my shoulder, hot and solid on top of me. There is no way we can fit beside each other on my bed. He finds a solution and in one quick move, he flips us over and arranges me on top of him, snuggling my head in the crook of his neck.
He kisses the crown of my head, holding me tight. “I’m sorry. You deserve better, but I’ve wanted you for so long. I promise, next time I’ll take better care of you.”
I lift my head and stare at him, failing to understand what he’s just said. His words, their meaning and their underlining emotions contradict everything I’ve ever experienced. While I’m desperately searching for an appropriate answer, tears push through and before I know, I’m sobbing.
How embarrassing. I’ve just had the best sex in my life and now I scare the guy with my overactive emotions.
“Sasha, baby, what’s going on? Have I hurt you?”
His question doesn’t make it better. It’s the most wonderful—even though completely ungrounded—concern. It makes the whole situation more surreal and my sobs turn into full-blown crying. Oh my God. What’s wrong with me?
I snuggle closer to him, holding him for dear life. Partially because James’s embrace is the safest place I have on Earth and partially to let him know he’s done nothing wrong.
“Baby, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” He strokes my hair and tries to pull away, but I cling to him.
Instead of insisting, he kisses my temple and keeps stroking my hair and holding me. For as long as I need. Because that’s the man he is.
When I finally calm down a bit, comforted by his care, he leans away slightly and forces me to look at him. “Talk to me.”
And I do. I tell him about my father, about masking my bruises, about never being good enough. About looking for validation in the arms of my first boyfriend at sixteen. A guy who turned out even more violent than my father. I tell him about Bruce.
He listens, his jaw set rigid, but otherwise, he’s gently stroking me. His touch helps me through the tough parts and the silences every time I need to pause. It’s cathartic.
“You apologizing for not giving me what I deserve after what was the best sex of my life is just too much.” I sob again, but then my lips curve up and I can’t help but smile through my tears because that sentence made him swell. I swear he’s close to beating his chest and howling.
“Best sex of your life, yeah?” He smirks. “In that case, baby, I’m sorry I don’t have more condoms, but I can still show you what you really deserve.” He jumps off the bed, grabs my ankles and pulls me to the edge. He settles my heels on the mattress, spreading me in front of him like a food tray. Before I realize what’s happening, he sinks his tongue into my still sensitive center.
I gasp at the decadent invasion, fisting his hair to ground myself. This man can make me fly. I wanted this with him for selfish reasons. I needed this to experience a physical connection that makes me feel beautiful and cherished. Not used and discarded. My selfishness has been rewarded with selfless care from this man.
He makes me come.
Several times.
He also makes me come to a realization that I really deserve better.
I only hope he stays around long enough to keep reminding me of that.