“You’re so— Fuck, Bee,” as I run my teeth down his throat. “I used to dream of you,” when my fingertips brush against the fine hair underneath his belly button. “I’m going to—we have to slow down, or I’m going to—”
after I start rocking on top of him, and the friction of his erection against my clit is already the best sex I’ve ever had. I’m shuddering, pulsating, about to explode with pleasure. My underwear is soaked and I want to get closer.
Closer.
But our clothes stay on. Frustratingly, maddeningly on, even when he brings me to bed, the kitchen light trickling inside the room. Levi’s grip on my hip is near-bruising, every breath a sharp intake. My body feels warm, buoyant, filled with cutting heat. He looks down at me and says, “I want to fuck you.” He nips at my collarbone, and—he likes teeth. To bite, to clutch, to suck. There’s something devouring about him, something clumsy and overeager, but it’s not a turnoff. He’s usually so patient, meticulous, but now he can’t wait. Can’t have enough. “Can I fuck you?”
I nod up at him, let him take my top, my pants, everything off, and the way he looks at me like he has found answers all of a sudden, like my body is a religious experience, has me squirming up for contact.
“This,” he says breathlessly, his thumb tracing reverently the piercing on my nipple.
“If you don’t like it, I—”
He shushes me, and it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m totally okay with him staring at my small breasts as though they’re something wondrous, with him kissing
them until his lips are plump, until I have to pull at his hair, until I’m so wet, I feel it trickle down my thigh. I’m okay with being told ridiculous things: I’m a good girl, I’m perfect, I’ve been driving him insane, when he first saw me I changed the chemistry of his brain.
He makes me laugh when I roll us around, push him underneath me, his elbows smacking against the hard wall. He mumbles a few obscenities, but when I bend down to kiss him again he forgets all about it. “You’re too big for the bed,” I tell him between giggles, peeling his shirt from his skin. He has abs. Defined ones. And pecs. He has muscle groups I thought were myths.
“Your bed’s too small for me. Next time we’ll do this in mine,” he says, lifting his hips and letting me undo his zipper. The sound of each catch fills the room, and it shouldn’t be so erotic, but I’m naked on top of him, his length rubbing against my core, and there’s no mistaking how deliciously, furiously, eagerly big he is.
“It’s been a while,” he says.
I blink at him, breathless, hazy. “Yeah. Me too.” I can’t help myself. I touch the damp head of his erection, just a brush of my fingertips. He grunts, bites his lip. His hips jerk. It’s a little like riding a horse. A bull.
“Do we need a condom?” he asks. I shake my head and mouth “birth control,” eager to continue. “This might be over very quickly,” he husks, hands gripping my thighs as I position him at my entrance. “But I’ll make it up to you. With my mouth. Or my fingers. If— Bee. Bee.”
I don’t know what I expected from having Levi inside of me. Probably the same as with Tim: something vaguely pleasant. At best, sex made me feel close to him. At worst, I was bored for a few minutes and remembered that taxes were due soon. With Levi it’s nothing like that. I’m in control. I’m easing his cock into my body. I struggle inch by inch to adjust, to accommodate, but it’s my decision. I close my eyes and feel my face twist, half pleasure and half pain. I need more. He needs more. We both need more, and I push down to take him farther inside, thighs and hands trembling as I strain to fill myself with him, and . . .
I can’t do it.
There is no room. I try again, grinding down to take more of him. My skin beads with sweat. The sense of fullness grows, turns into a sting of pain, but I push through it, force myself to—
“Slow down,” Levi orders, a little more than a growl. His hands clasp my hips to still me.
I open my eyes. Shake my head. “I need to—”
“You need a minute,” he says firmly, and his voice brooks no argument.
We’re both shaking, gasping, sweaty against each other, but I pause for a moment, and he nods, choppy, pleased. “Good girl.”
He stares at me like he doesn’t know where to settle his eyes. Then he finds the place where we’re joined and starts touching me there, slow, wet strokes of his thumb on my clit that soften me and help me take him all the way. His hip bones press into the undersides of my thighs when he bottoms out. I feel my channel clench and grip him, and his groan tells me that he does, too. He’s in me to the hilt, and I collapse on top of him.
“Levi,” I stutter into his mouth. “You are really big.”
Something vibrates between us. Not physical—a feeling. It resonates in my body and in my brain.
“You’ll get used to me,” he gasps against my temple, pushing my hair back from my forehead with trembling hands, and then I am so full, I cannot be still anymore. I roll my hips to test the waters, see what hurts (very little) and what’s good (a whole lot). I learn what I want. Which angle. Which rhythm. In exchange, I let Levi’s hands roam my body wherever he likes—
and it’s everywhere. There are wet, filthy, shameful sounds, but I don’t care, too busy gripping the headboard and grinding myself against that spot inside me which— Yes. Yes. He’s immense, stretching me to my limit and a bit past.
I balance myself on his chest. His heart beats a drum against my palm, and I move up and down. Delicious pressure. Pleasure pulses deep in my belly.
“Like this?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Or he does, but in murmurs, incoherent little things, like Please, Be still, Don’t move, You’re so tight, I’m going to— Oh, shit. It
gets worse when I clench around him on purpose, just to see where I can go.
There’s no extra room inside me. Nothing at all, and my vision dots. My pulse spikes. My head snaps blank, my lungs void of air, and I come like an avalanche, a wash of blinding pleasure as my body contracts rhythmically. I whimper my orgasm into the skin of his collarbone.
When I can think again, I find Levi on top of me, panting against my throat, fingers tight around my hips. He babbles, groans, desperately grinds his cock against my stomach, but he has pulled out. I am painfully empty, clenching against nothing.
“Did you—?” My voice is hoarse.
“I’m trying to make it last,” he pants. “I don’t want this to end.” I try to guide him into me once again, but he pins my wrists above my head and kisses me, endless, deep, without restraint, swallowing my soft whimpers in his mouth. Then he slides back inside. In this position he gets deeper.
Harder. Different angles. He covers me, all of me, and I let him do what he let me do: find his pleasure in my body. His thrusts are shallow, then slow, then deep. Then his control snaps in two, long movements that drag delicious friction against all of my nerve endings. I love his weight on me. I love his guttural groans. I love the absent, awestruck green of his eyes. I’m so close. So close again.
This is good. He is good. We are good. Together. Like this.
“Bee,” he slurs against my cheek. “Bee. You are everything I—”
My hands slide against his sweat-slick back, and I hold him together as he shatters into a million pieces.
18
