I can’t stop this. I want to, and yet I don’t. I want to feel his fingers inside me, and I want to feel his mouth on me. I know he’s planning on going down on me, and I want that. I do. Fuck, I do, so badly.
But I’m scared. I’m terrified.
I should tell him I’m a virgin.
But I’m not going to. He’ll stop, and he’ll make a big deal over it.
And all he’s doing right now is touching me.
He’d want an explanation as to how I can be a twenty-two-year-old virgin. He’ll want the story, and I can’t give him that. I can’t. I won’t. It’s not something I tell anyone, ever. It happened a long time ago, and I should be over it, but I’m not. And that’s part of why I’m doing this, why I’m still here, why I’m fighting my fears and the turmoil in my soul, why I’m shaking like a leaf, my heart hammering and my breath coming in fast, deep gasps. I don’t want to let my past dictate my present or future anymore. I want this, really truly deeply want Adam, want to do this with him, but I’m afraid. Which is why I have to push myself past my fear, why I have to let this happen: so I can move on. So I can find some semblance of normality. And as long as I let my fear rule me, that’ll never happen.
It’s not normal to be terrified of letting men get close to me. It’s not normal to freeze up when male hands reach for me.
For some reason, Adam scares me the least of anyone I’ve ever met, even as he simultaneously terrifies me more than I ever thought possible. I feel safe with him. I feel like I can trust him, like he’d stop in an instant if I said the word. Like he’d be furious for me if he knew the root cause of my fear. And I want him. I want him so bad. I want to touch his skin, his muscles. I want to see all of him. I want to pull his underwear off and see and feel that massive, iron-hard thing they so completely fail to disguise.
I’m not some innocent, lily-white fainting daisy. I grew up hard, and fast. I’m not innocent or ignorant. I’ve had a few…experiences. I’ve just never been capable of letting anyone get close enough to me to give them my virginity. I’ve just never been able to withstand touch, however gentle.
I’ve seen cocks before, and I know he’s packing something rarely and uniquely amazing. Just like the rest of him.
I want him. I want him.
But I’m scared of letting myself go there. I’m scared of what will happen. Not to my body, but my heart. And I’m scared I’ll freak out at the last second, and mess everything up.
Oh god, he’s touching me everywhere. Hips, breasts, nipples, ribs, thighs. And he’s telling me he wants to touch me—and kiss me—everywhere, all over, and I know I want it and can’t keep a curse of embattled need and fear from escaping.
“Jesus,” I hear myself say.
“I keep telling you that’s not my name,” Adam jokes again, a grin on his lovely, talented mouth.
“Adam…” I breathe.
“Better,” he says, covering my shaking hands with his.
I’m covering myself. No one has ever seen me like this, naked, bared, open, vulnerable. And the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something yummy he wants to eat, is both dizzyingly wonderful and scarily intoxicating.
“Now look into my eyes and tell me you want me to stop.”
He knows that’s impossible. I’ve let this go too far, and there’s no turning back now. “I can’t,” I admit.
“I know you can’t,” he says, an arrogant smirk ghosting across his lips. “You know you want this. You know you want to let me touch you.”
How the fuck can he read me so well? How does he know what I want so unerringly? It’s unnerving.
I can’t look away from him. There’s not the slightest desire in me to look away from his pale, green eyes. His gaze heats me from within, makes something quiver inside me. More even than his arrogant words and confident touch, the knowing, patient, hungry look in his eyes has me acquiescing to my own desires.
I want to let him see me, touch me, and so…I do. I force my hands away, and cling to his broad shoulders. I can feel his muscles shifting under his skin as he keeps his eyes on mine, that cocky grin curling on his lips, as he traces the seam of my pussy with one thick forefinger.
I feel a sliver of heat knife through me, beginning deep within my core, deep down just below my belly. The heat is damp, thick, and pervading. And then his finger drags from the apex of my vagina back down, pauses, and slides back up. The upward journey parts my labia ever so slightly, and a moan escapes my lips. My eyes want to close, but I refuse to let them. I make myself watch. I force my eyes open and watch his finger skate up and down my opening slowly, slowly, again and again, slipping in a little further with every upward and downward motion. And then he’s in me; his finger is inside my pussy to the second knuckle. His palm faces up, his finger curling in. His eyes go to mine, watching my every reaction. My eyes are heavy, fluttering with the aching fullness of one of his fingers, my core hot and wet now, made all the more damp by his touch. Wetness moves through me, until I’m sure I must be dripping, and I’m embarrassed, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Or maybe he does. He pulls his finger out of me, and I feel so empty, suddenly. And then, making sure I’m watching, he puts his index finger in his mouth—the finger that was just inside me. I gape at him in disbelief, but can’t summon any words. It was mortifying and erotic in equal measure, and I don’t know which reaction to show, so I don’t show either, I just stare at him. His finger, glistening with his saliva and my essence, slips back into me now, piercing me slowly, and I squirm at the invasion, breathe out a moan.
I ache. There’s a pressure within me, building and building, mounting with every appreciative, desire-hot sweep of his eyes over my body, with every gentle, skillful touch of his hands and mouth on my skin. I ache, and I know somehow that only Adam could ever release the pressure, could ever provide the relief I need.
He slides his finger upward and finds the nexus of the aching pressure: my clitoris. The heat and the wetness and the pressure and the need, it’s all centered there, and he knows it, and he finds it, and his finger presses the diamond-hard nub of nerves and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning too loud.
“You like that, Des?” His voice is a low rumble, coming from deep in his chest.
“Y-yeah. I do.”
“Then let me hear you say it.”