Smiling, I take the pillow off of my face when it gets too hot. When I do, I see a dark figure in the
doorway and yelp, my heart racing a million miles an hour.
Deacon stands there, a crooked smile on his face. “Hi,” he says.
Flushed, I ask, “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at work?”
I sit up and start to stand, but he says, “No, stay there.”
It feels a little like I’m in trouble. Like when I did something wrong as a kid and I was made to stay on
my bed and not move.
“I called in sick,” he says, moving toward the bed. Toward me. My breathing comes faster. “I couldn’t
stop thinking about you. There’s a connection here. I know you feel it.”
I lean back until I’m lying on his bed, my breath now coming in heavy bursts as he leans over me. I nod
because my voice is caught in my throat. He grabs my arms and raises them above my head. Letting
out a low moan, I welcome this aggressive side of him.
He bridges the gap between us until our lips are touching. It’s a gentle kiss at first. An introduction, his
lips getting to know mine. His are soft, yet eager. His weight settles on me, fingers curling in my hair. I
love how his body fits perfectly with mine. Our hips and chests meshing together as if we were made
for each other. I can feel his heartbeat against me, moving just as fast as mine. He seems so confident,
but his heartbeat suggests he’s nervous too. Or maybe he’s just as excited to be with me as I am to
finally be with him. I can’t believe this is finally happening. All my adolescent dreams are coming true
and I try to memorize the feeling of him against me, the sound of his breath, the smell of him, in order
to keep this memory with me always.
Our tongues meet, twisting and writhing. Limbs intertwine. I slip his shirt over his head, mussing up his
hair. His skin is hot to the touch, taut over his muscles. I love the smoothness of him against my
fingers. Looking down between us, I see his hard on straining to get out of his jeans. I’m all too eager to
help him with that. He raises up to give me plenty of room to work as I unzip his jeans and slip my hand
into his boxers, gasping when I feel how large he is. How will that ever fit?
A tendril of fear shivers through me when I think about the pain of having sex for the first time.
Especially with someone so big. I know it’s not likely, but I can’t help but worry that it won’t fit.
Somehow he manages to get his jeans off with one hand. His boxers slip down over his narrow waist,
and I see just how intimidating he really is. I’m nervous, but at the same time I’m more turned on than
I’ve ever been. His skin is smoldering and silky. I wrap my hand around his massive manhood, slowly
stroking. He lets out a deep, masculine growl that sends goose bumps prickling up my arms.
It’s as if I’ve awoken a beast. Suddenly he’s tearing off my clothes, his eyes feral with lust. I’m a rag
doll, being bent and positioned roughly. This wild side of him is such a turn on, and I realize the
difference between a boy and a man are worlds apart. My ex, Trevor, was a terrible substitute for the
real thing.
My clothes are off in seconds. He sits back, just looking at me. It makes me a little self-conscious being
exposed like this, but the intense look on his face lets me know he likes what he sees and all I want to
do is please him, so I make sure not to curl in on myself like I want. I stay open to him, let him see
every part of me, every flaw, every freckle.
“You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he says in a deep, sultry voice.
He’s kissing me again, licking, biting at my bottom lip, while his hands explore my breasts. I never
really knew just how sensitive my nipples were until now. Every time he tweaks one, it sends a curl of
lightning down to my clit which feels swollen and neglected while the rest of my body gets all the
attention. But that’s okay, because I know when he finally does get around to touching me there, it will
be worth the wait.
He takes one of my breasts into his mouth, growling like a dog with a toy he doesn’t want to share with
anyone else. He’s so possessive over my body. I’ve never felt this wanted, or lusted over before. Then
he switches breasts, making sure each has its fair share of attention.
When he comes up for air, he says, “You have the most perfect tits.” He squeezes one and licks his
way around the areola. “And the cutest little nipples.” He takes them both, holding them. “These belong
to me now,” he says possessively. “No one else can touch them.”
“My entire body is yours,” I say desperately. “I want only you. I’ve always wanted only you.”
He sits back, looking curiously at me, while still holding my breasts in his hands. “Always?”
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