This was okay. We were in love, and this was part of falling in love.
I tugged the end of the belt out of the loop on his pants and out of the buckle, flicked the prong away from the hole in the leather, and then loosened the belt entirely. He wasn’t breathing, wasn’t moving, his mouth next to my ear, his breathing harsh. His arm shook, and he switched hands, supporting himself with his other palm now. His fingers rested curled against the hot skin of my belly, his thumb brushing tiny circles on the cotton of my panties an inch above my privates. So close, yet so far.
Oh, god. I wanted this. I wanted to touch him more. I wanted more from him. This was so addicting, unstoppable.
The button popped open, and my thumb and forefinger tugged down the zipper. My gaze descended to the open fly of his pants, and I saw the tenting of his boxers, and a dot of dampness on the blue cotton. The wetness of desire, something we both had.
He was stone-still, his eyes on me, glancing at my br**sts, then to my thighs and my panties and finally up to my eyes. He wanted this just as much as I did, but I also saw my own doubts reflected in his eyes. He shifted his weight slightly, and his pants drooped around his hips. I touched his waist near his stomach, meeting his eyes. My fingers curled under the gray elastic band, hesitated. My heart was a wild, tribal drum in my chest.
Jason’s fingers moved to one thigh, midway between hip and knee, and then journeyed slowly upward. I relaxed my legs, let my thighs spread apart a bit farther, and then his palm was against the soft, sensitive skin of my inner thigh, curling around the muscle there, his fingers pointing down. So close. I trembled all over, and as his hand moved ever closer to my core, I shivered harder, felt the dampness of desire grower wetter.
Our eyes were locked, exchanging permission, communicating need and desire and doubts.
“You want this?” he asked, his voice a whisper in the silence of the truck cab.
I nodded. “Yes. Do you?”
“Yes. But do think we should stop?”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. Where do we stop? Where is too far? I don’t want to. I want to keep going. But I don’t…I don’t want us to regret going past a line we can’t take back.”
I didn’t let myself think about what I was going to say. I just blurted it out, stutters and all. “If w-we went all-all the way t-t-to-together…would you rrr-r-rr-regret it?”
My fingers were still curled around the elastic of his underwear, and his were flush against the hot, trembling skin of my thigh, not even half an inch from my wet center.
He shook his head. “I know I love you. I know I want to be with you, only you. I wouldn’t regret it. Would you?”
I shook my head. “No. No way.” I was so sure, I didn’t even stutter. “I know I love you, too.”
His hand dared closer, and now the tip of his thumb was exploring the crease of my privates through the damp cotton of my panties. I couldn’t breathe when he did that.
Then he stopped, and his eyes locked on mine. “We can’t go that far tonight, though,” he said. “We don’t have enough time, and I don’t want our first time to be in my truck.”
“Why n-not?” I tugged on his underwear, just a little. “It’s where we spend a lot of our time together, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…” He seemed uncomfortable talking about it. “It should be special. In a bed, somewhere nice. And plus…we don’t have any…you know…things. Protection.” He whispered the last word in a barely audible voice.
I sighed. “Yeah, I know. You’re right. We should plan it out, then. Make it perfect.”
He nodded his agreement. “So what about this? Tonight?”
I swallowed hard. “Well, we’re not doing that, but we can…we can just spend more time together until I have to go, right?”
He seemed relieved, and glad. “Right. I mean, it’s not like it can accidentally just happen, right?”
I shook my head. “No. We’re making choices, together.” I felt grown-up, talking things through and making decisions about sex with my boyfriend.
He bent low to kiss me, and my knuckles pressed into the divot of his hips, where his muscles did that crazy V-cut thing. I kissed him with all I had, eyes closed, heart full. I loved Jason, I really did. It was an exciting thing to admit, to say, to feel, to know.
When we’d kissed each other breathless, Jason pulled away slightly, and his wide green eyes and parted lips drove me wild. He was so beautiful, so handsome, and I just loved him. I met his eyes as I pulled his boxer-briefs away from his body and slid them down his hips. His eyes went wide, and even his breathing stopped as he was bared to me.
Oh. Oh, holy shit.
I caught my lip between my teeth and drew my gaze away from his…I couldn’t even think of what word to use in my own mind…and met his gaze. He was nervous, slightly embarrassed. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Was there a right way to touch him?
His chest swelled with an indrawn breath as I curled my fingers around him. Wow. Just…whoa. Such a complex mess of contradictions. Hard, soft, thick, springy under my fingers in places, taut skin in others. My hand was a dark tan against the pale almost-pink of his flesh there. I moved my fist down, and then back up, just wanting to touch all of him, and he gasped, jerked in my grip.
His eyes closed tight, and he tried to pull away from me. “Becca, oh, god. I’m—you should let go now.”
I was confused. “Why? Don’t—don’t you want me to touch you?”
He tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. “Yeah, I do. More than you know. But…if you don’t stop, I’ll…I’m gonna—I mean, I’ll make a mess.”
I blushed hard and nearly bit through my lip. Curiosity was a big part of my emotions at that point, along with wonder, amazement, nerves…too many things to name, all mixed up together. I liked touching him. I liked the way he seemed barely able to contain himself. Me touching him drove him crazy. I liked that.
I touched the top of him with my fingertip, and he groaned. Every muscle in his body was tensed, I could see that. I didn’t want to let go. I liked this. It was daring, it was unlike me, usually so careful and good and calm and reserved and following every little rule.
I closed my fingers around him again and slid my hand down his length, feeling every ridge and ripple of skin, watching his face contort and the veins in his forehead and neck and arms tense, feeling his abs tighten into rock. His arm gave out and he collapsed partially on top of me, and I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I really liked the way his weight felt on top of me. He was turned on his side, wedged between me and the seat back. His hips were level with mine, and he was gripping my hip, fingers curled into my flesh, his forehead against my shoulder. I waited until he was still, and then slid my hand up and back down. That motion seemed to drive him the most wild, his body bucking into my grip. And then he tensed even more, going entirely rigid.