Page 20 of Eighteen (18)

“At a friend’s house.”

He pushes me backwards, trying to make me lie back on the desk. It’s slow and not at all harsh. But he makes it clear that I will be bending backwards for him. I give in and let my back rest on the table.

He unbuckles his belt.

“What are you doing?” I ask, really in a panic.

“Fucking you,” he says. And in my head I imagine that he says it mean, or rude, or condescending. But he doesn’t. He says it like it’s already happened.

“You can’t fuck me.”

“I can if you don’t stop me.” He grabs my hand and places it over the hard bulge under his jeans, rubbing, moving my fingers back and forth along his shaft. His eyes narrow with pleasure and then he lets go, but I continue.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, his attention back to the task of setting himself free. And a moment later his cock springs out. Long and thick, the head swollen and the tip ready. He pulls a condom out of his back pocket and rolls it down his shaft.

I gulp air.

“Unbutton your jeans, Shannon.”

I do. I unbutton them. I unzip them before he even asks. And then I lift my hips up so he can drag them down my thighs. He leaves them on, bunched up at my knees, and then he lifts my legs up towards my shoulders, dips his head under and licks my pussy.

I almost come immediately.

“Are you a virgin?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good,” he whispers back. “Because I don’t have the patience for that.”

He sucks on me, teasing my clit, swirling it around in little circles. It’s so intense my hand flies down to his head, almost ready to push him off me.

But he stops for a moment, and says, “Be still. And don’t come yet.”

I moan. I don’t know if I can control it. I’ve never had a problem achieving an orgasm, but I swear, I don’t ever remember being so turned on before. It’s the door, I think. The open door. I imagine myself walking by, getting a glimpse of his muscled body taking me this way on a makeshift desk in the middle of a classroom.

Wetness pools between my legs and he hums, “Mmmmm,” as his tongue does that dance.

He swipes over my clit and I grab his hair. Handfuls of it in my fists. I don’t know what comes over me except that I’m consumed with need. I push on his head, urging him to go deeper. And then his fingers are there and… and…

I just explode.

I’m not a screamer, I swear, but I scream.

He laughs, pulls back, pumps his dick a few times, and then enters me. And as rough as it was a few seconds ago, that’s how soft it is now. Long, slow movements. In and out, the friction of his cock spreading me. I just don’t know what to do except lie there and enjoy it.

He leans over the table and I can smell him. He smells like motorcycle oil, and leather, and sweat, and desire. He smells like me too. He smells like a man.

“I’m gonna come on that shirt,” he says. “Because it’s not yours.”

And before I can say no, he does. He pulls out, rips the condom off, and comes all over the t-shirt that isn’t even mine.

We look at each other for a few seconds and then he lets out a breath and pulls away.

I swallow down the realization of what we just did as he tucks his dick away and buckles his pants. He combs his hand over his messed-up hair and then looks me in the eye as I lie there on the desk, my legs still spread open before him. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a month.”

It takes several seconds for that sentence to register. “What?”

He takes my hand and pulls me up, then hikes my jeans back up my legs. “OK, now that we got that out of the way, we still gotta work. Go clean up and get your ass back here. You have three minutes.”