Page 58 of Embracing the Beat
“W-will it hurt?” she asks.
That she’s even asking me the question tells me what I said intrigues her.
“A little,” I admit. “But it will also feel good. Very good.”
“Oh.”
“What are you thinking right now?”
“I—” Her tongue slicks over her lips, and I want to follow the path. But I wait. For her. “Have you ever done this before?”
I nod. “I have.”
“With Ashley?”
“No.”
Ashley was only interested in missionary style sex. But after she and I broke up, I headed to a bar I’d read about. One where people are open to experiences—a wide variety of them. And over the course of several weeks, I picked up a few women and learned about the experiences I liked. When I got home to Philadelphia, I found a place here like the one in Pittsburgh. It’s one I haven’t visited since Michaela returned.
I won’t hide what I’m thinking from her, opening myself up to her just as surely as she is to me.
“I—I want that one.”
Everything—my heartbeat, my breathing, my need—stills as I study her. “Which one?”
I’m not making assumptions, even though my muscles are poised, ready for her answer.
“Option two. I trust you.”
At that admission, another emotion overwhelms all the lust coursing through my body.
Protection.
“If you want to stop, all you need to do is tell me.”
“I remember.”
I don’t say anything else, claiming her mouth as my hands claim her body, lifting her against me and carrying her out of the bathroom, heading for my room. Seeing her the other day, her blond curls spread out over my dark sheets, had left me rock hard. The heat of her pussy against my stomach is another kind of torture, but I can’t give in. Not yet.
I lower myself to the bed with her still in my arms, her hips grinding against me as her hands delve into my hair. Cuffing her wrists, I tug her hands down, shifting both into one hand. I break our kiss and wait for her eyes to open.
“Ready?”
“Y-yes.” The slight hesitation reflects her anxiety, and I press another chaste kiss against her lips.
“Stand up.” With some shifting and help from me, she’s soon standing next to me, wrists still wrapped in my grasp. My mouth waters for her pussy, now at eye level, and I close my eyes to ward off the need.
Later.
I wait for several breaths, letting the moment drag out. Waiting until she least expects it to yank her forward across my lap, her ass dead center. She cries out, and I dip a hand between her legs, dragging my fingers through her folds until she writhes against me, my name falling from her lips as her release hovers at the edges.
“Now, the question is how many,” I muse, moving my fingers as if absentmindedly, but knowing exactly how to touch her, to tease her, to build the ache.
“How many?” She peeks over her shoulder, eyes wide.
“I’m going to say five.”
“Five?”
