"Tell me when you want to stop," he whispers, biting my earlobe. The thing is … I'm not sure that I want to stop. I keep finding myself in these situations, and wondering, wanting, needing, but then I deny myself and I just end up frustrated.
No, I don't want to stop.
Those long beautiful fingers of his tease me until I'm panting, moving my hips to meet each touch. He works me until I'm a complete mess, my hair tangled, my skin sweaty, my heart thundering like a herd of horses. And then, with all of that lazy, insouciant perfection of his, he moves the panties aside and teases my opening with a single finger.
Our kiss deepens just before he slides it in, all the way to the knuckle. Pleasure of a sort I've never felt before shoots through me, and I dig my fingers hard into Creed’s back, making him grunt. We sit there together for a moment, frozen in an intimate position, letting the newness of the situation settle over us.
And then he begins to move, slow strokes, in and out, until I’m shaking and quivering and wishing for more. My lips move, but no sound comes out. Creed is shaking, too, sweating. A bead drops from the end of his nose and lands on my lips. I lick it off and he groans, closing his eyes as he inserts a second finger. It gets a bit tight then, but not uncomfortable.
I bite his lower lip, suck it into my mouth, and then shiver as he sweeps a thumb over my erect nipple. Suddenly, I’m just desperate to get out of the dress. It feels tight, almost confining.
There’s a knock on the door, and we both pause. Creed swings an irritated gaze in that direction.
“Hey. Tell the idiot I’m done showering, so he can have the bathroom.”
“I’ll tell him,” I choke out, wondering if I sound weird, if she can tell, if she knows.
“KK, night-night.” I can just imagine Miranda waving as she pads off toward her bedroom. Sighing, I lean my head back into the pillows, and Creed curves his fingers, stimulating parts of me I didn’t even know I had. His thumb slicks upward and over the throbbing ache I didn’t realize needed so badly to be sated.
We start kissing again, and it’s like breathing, to touch my mouth to his. I need him suddenly in a way I’ve never needed anyone before. My hips move against his hand until he’s cursing and pulling away, leaving me gasping and achy. I sit up on my elbows as Creed rises to his feet, panting.
“Condom?” he asks, and my cheeks flush. He stops then and looks at me, really looks at me. “That is, if that’s what you want.” He just stands there and stares at me, a beautiful shirtless aristocrat with the bone structure of a prince, and the haughty air of a king. That vicious mouth of his, equally good at insulting and kissing alike, turns up in a half-smile. “I’ve waited this long, and so have you. There’s no point in pushing through something that doesn’t feel right.”
“It feels amazing,” I whisper, feeling a pang of guilt.
What about the other guys? What about Zack, and the sweet, soft sadness he carries in that big, muscular body of his? What about Zayd’s confession in the library, and the shame he carried for a whole year? And then there’s Windsor and Tristan … I imagine sex doesn’t mean much to either of them. They’ve had enough of it, that’s for sure. No, I want something more from them. I want to be held, and cuddled, and touched. I want to be talked to, listened to … loved.
I need to see their vulnerability.
“This feels right.” I sit up and put my feet over the edge of the bed, nodding my head in the direction of my suitcase. “I have condoms in my bag.”
Creed cocks a blond brow.
“How? Why?”
I give him a look, my face flushed, my body on fire. An ardent storm swirls through me … aaaaand, I’m waxing poetic again. Ugh. But it’s so true.
“I’ve been having condoms thrown at me, shoved in my locker, and piled on my doorstep since first year started. I’m a virgin, not an idiot. I knew sex would happen eventually, so why throw away perfectly good condoms.”
“They might have holes poked in them,” Creed says, and my blood chills at the implication. That’s beyond bullying, that’s practically sexual assault.
“No, I only keep the ones in the sealed boxes,” I say, and he nods, bending down and unzipping my suitcase, pushing aside some embarrassing lacey pink panties until he finds what he’s looking for. As he stands back up and reaches down for the button on his slacks, I lean over and turn out the light.
