Page 75 of Julian

Her fingers find my belt and she fumbles with it slightly, enough that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from helping. She gets it. She gets the button. And then her hand brushes the front of my briefs and she stills. I watch her work up the nerve, and when she finally slides her palm against me through the fabric, a small sound escapes her—surprised, reverent, like she hadn’t believed it would feel like this in her hand.

“Take them off,” I tell her. “I want you to.”

She does. Her cheeks are flaming. Her eyes don’t leave mine until she’s drawn everything down my hips, and only then does she look, and her mouth parts a little, and she says:

“Oh my god, Julian.”

I think I might lose my mind.

“Touch me,” I say. “However you want. There’s no wrong way.”

She wraps her hand around me carefully, and the contrast of that careful grip with the heat of her palm and the look on her face—half wonder, half hunger—shatters me in a way I’m not prepared for. She strokes me slowly. Watches what it does to me. Her grip firms when my eyes close. She’s learning me, fast, the way she does everything—paying attention, adjusting, getting bolder by degrees.

“That’s—” My voice has gone rough. “That’s good. That’s very good.”

“Yeah?” Small, pleased.

“Yeah.”

I let her have a minute of it. I let her see what she can do. Then I catch her wrist, because if I don’t, this ends faster than either of us wants.

“My turn,” I say.

I lift her.

She makes a startled sound—a half laugh, hands flying to my shoulders—and then her toned legs are around my waist and I’m carrying her the few steps to the bed and laying her down on it. Her hair fans across the white linen and the breeze moves the curtains around us and I have to pause, standing over her, just looking, the way I looked at her in the doorway, because I want to remember this.

She is flushed pink from her cheeks to her chest. Her thighs are pressed together. Her eyes are enormous.

“Julian.” She reaches for me. “Don’t make me wait.”

I climb onto the bed and kiss her mouth, her jaw, her throat, her salty skin, her body and mine moving in primal ways. I shimmy the lace panties down her legs and let them fall somewhere off the side of the bed. I kiss the inside of one knee, then the other, parting her thighs as I go, and she lets me, and when I finally lower my mouth to her, she makes a sound I will hear in my dreams. A sharp shocked Ah—! Her hand flies into my hair and grips, hard, like she’s trying to hold on as she levitates into euphoria.

I take my time. I learn her. When I slide a finger inside her she’s already slippery and soaking, already clenching, and the noise she makes—

“Julian, oh God—Julian—”

I look up the length of her body. Her eyes are wild. “Look at me.”

She comes apart looking at me.

Her back arches clear off the bed, her hand fists in the sheets, and she gasps my name like she didn’t know she was going to. I work her through it slowly, gently, until she’s shaking and oversensitive and reaching for me with both hands.

“Please,” she whispers. “Please, I want you, I want—”

I’m already moving up her body.

I reach for the drawer. She watches me roll on the condom with her chest heaving and the look on her face—dazed and wanting and a little astonished at herself—is the most erotic sight I have ever seen.

I settle between her thighs.

I press the head of my throbbing cock against her, resting, watching her face.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I push into her slowly. Inch by inch. She’s tight and hot and her breath stutters as her hands grip my arms. Her eyes stay open, stay on mine, the whole way. I can tell she doesn’t want to miss any of it.