He made a face at me, then assumed an overtly ridiculous flexing pose, and I laughed so hard I snorted, even as I appreciated the view. He was being silly, I knew, bending forward with his hands clasped in front of himself, but the pose worked to flex every muscle in his upper body to incredible effect.
A thought struck me, and I acted on it before I could lose my nerve. I stood up in front of him, then reached for his zipper, feeling the springy hardness of him behind his boxers. I was shaking again, shivering all over, suddenly cold and terrified of what I was about to, but determined to go through with it. I unzipped him, shoved his jeans down, crouching down with them to help him lift his feet out of them, one at a time. I was kneeling in front of him then, eye level with his privates. I could see him bulging against the tight cotton of his gray boxer-briefs. Still kneeling, I curled my fingers between his skin and the elastic, then, looking up to watch him, I pulled his underwear down, baring him completely.
I sucked in a breath, seeing him again. Oh, god. Oh, god. So much. Could I do this?
I leaned forward, parting my mouth, felt him against my lips, tasted salt and musk, and then I was being lifted up.
“No, Becca. No.” He held my face in his hands, forcing my eyes to his. “Not that, not now, not like this.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or upset that he’d stopped me, especially after psyching myself up to do it for him. “You don’t want that?”
He frowned, clearly struggling with his answer. “I don’t think any guy could say ‘no, I don’t want that.’ But not…not in this situation. That’s not why we’re here. We’re here to share something together.” He searched my eyes. “Are you afraid?”
I looked down, away from his eyes, and was greeted by his manhood in all its glory, tall and thick. I looked back up to his eyes and nodded. “Yes,” I whispered. “I’m terrified.”
He pulled me against him, and I suddenly felt vulnerable and naked, even though I was still in my bra and underwear and he was completely bare. “We don’t have to do this. You didn’t…you didn’t have to do that. Buy new lingerie and do the whole stripping thing.”
“You didn’t like it?” I felt my nerves overtaking me, my false confidence leaving me.
He laughed. “Becca, baby. I loved it. But…I’m worried you were doing it because you thought I’d…I don’t know, expect it, maybe? Or maybe that I wouldn’t want you if you didn’t? Either that, or you were…overcompensating for being afraid.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
He nodded. “Hell, yes. I have no problem admitting I’m afraid. I’m nervous. I don’t know what we’re doing…what to do. I’ve heard it might hurt you, and I don’t want that. I just…I want it to be perfect, since it’s our first time, for both of us and as a couple. And I just…I love you, and I don’t want to mess anything up.”
I rested my head against his chest, feeling his hands caress my shoulders, my back. I liked having his hands on my skin; it was soothing, relaxing, calming…and erotic. He had full access to all of me like this. A flick of his hands, and I’d be naked. His hands made me forget my fears and accentuated them all at once. So confusing.
He just held me, smoothing his palms over my spine, my shoulder blades, my arms. I breathed, forcing myself to relax.
“Do you want to leave, Becca?” His voice was soft, concerned.
I shook my head against his chest. “No. I don’t.”
“You’re sure?” I nodded again. “Then kiss me,” he said, touching my chin.
I tilted my face up to his, lightly pressed my lips to kiss him. It was gentle, hesitant, almost chaste at first. Then his hands skated over my back, traced the line of my bra strap, descended lower to the small of my back. I gasped into his mouth at his increasingly hungry touch. I pressed closer to him, feeling myself squish against his chest. His hands arced into the sway of my back and over my ass, cupping, holding, and god…so perfect. I felt a hesitation in his kiss, and then he slipped his fingers under the fabric of my underwear, against my skin, skimming over my hips first and pushing my panties down. I stopped kissing him but left my lips against his, opened my eyes and gazed into his bright green stare.
He pushed my panties farther down, then slid his palms around to touch my bare flesh, and I closed my eyes in a drawn-out blink. My hands were on his shoulders, where they always seemed to gravitate during a kiss. I matched his action, carving my hands down his arms to his waist, his hips, then to the cool hardness of his backside and clutched it, kneaded it, explored it while he did the same to me.
We were acclimating to each other’s touch, the feel of naked skin. It was a slow introduction to completed nakedness. I’d only touched his man part—I nearly snorted out loud as I thought that silly, girly phrase in my own head. I wondered what to call it. I backed away from him and put my hand on his chest and drew a line downward, stopping just above it.
Then I grasped it, bold and sudden, and met his startled gaze. “What do you call this?”
“What?” He was confused by the question.
I slid my palm down him a bit and then back up. “This…what word do you use?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really refer to it much.” He glanced up and to the left as he thought, then flicked his gaze back to me. “If I have to use a word for it, I usually use the word ‘cock,’ I guess. Why?”
I lifted my shoulder a little. “Just curious. I couldn’t decide. I don’t like most of the words for it.”
He laughed. “I don’t, either. Usually, to be honest, it’s just ‘it.’” He took my hand and drew it away from him, from his “it.” “You gotta let go, or this will be over before it starts.”
I went back to caressing his bu**ocks. “I can touch you here, right?”
He blushed, and it was adorable. “Yeah, if you want. I like it.”
“You do?”
He shrugged, his hands resting on my hips. “Yeah.” He slid his palms around to my backside. “Do you like this?”
I nodded, never taking my gaze from his. “Yes, I do. A lot.” I still had my underwear partially on, which felt silly, so I wiggled out of them. “Now what?”
“The bed?”
I let him guide me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed, and I sat down, letting his body wedge my knees apart. His green gaze never wavered from mine as I scooted backward across the mattress, Jason following me. He reached past me and jerked the blankets and sheet away, and then I was on my back against the pile of pillows, Jason above me, my heart pounding, my nerves racing and my pulse thrumming and my skin singing and his hands sliding up my thighs.