Page 23 of For Real

I did this to him.

Me. Too skinny, too weird, too intense, nobody me.

And this is something I can have. Something I can really have.

He flings my T-shirt…somewhere, and then his mouth sort of opens over my nipple, and, oh my God, heat, hot, hot wet heat. And then his tongue, holy shit, his tongue flicks the end of the arrow, tugging at the skin very lightly, and it’s fucking electric. This thin-bright, not-pleasure-not-pain feeling that ripples outwards like a Catherine wheel. My spine arches helplessly off the bed, turning me into a goddamn croquet hoop, and I make the sort of noise nobody should make from only getting their nipple licked.

That’s when I know I’m outclassed.

I wasn’t lying when I told him I was sexually active, as they say at the clinic. Yeah, sexually active and responsible, that’s me. But sometimes I wonder if my relationship with sex is this sort of unhealthy mixture of insecurity and hormones. Because I like it when people want to shag me—that’s undeniably good for the ego—and I have this low-level, pretty much permanent desire to be having sex at all times. But sex itself… Well that’s kind of meh, isn’t it? Not awful, or anything, but nothing to really beat a good hard wank.

There’s no pressure when you’re wanking. When you’re with someone else, it seems a bit rude to, y’know, be somewhere else in your head. But when I’m flying solo, I can fill my brain with as many hot guys in chains as my imagination can fashion.

Maybe it’s because of the kinky thing.

Or maybe I’m a bad lay. But mainly it’s kind of wet and awkward, and you’re both kind of touching each other like you aren’t really sure what you’re doing.

Probably because you aren’t.

But, fuck, I want to be touched the way Laurie touches me. Like he knows where my pleasure lives, even if I don’t, and he’s going to drag it out of me screaming.

And I want to learn how to touch him that way. Because I really, really like the idea of him screaming. Kidding. Well, not kidding, not really, but it’s not only about the power. It’s this sheer crazy gratitude and wanting to pay it forward. Backwards. Pay it somewhere.

Make him feel this good. This completely touched.

He lifts his head before I die. And I just lie there, incandescent, taut, and panting. His fingertips brush my throat.

And I spill another stupid sound. Beneath his hands, my skin is so light and tight I half imagine I’m transparent. I’m glass for him, all the way to my blood-red, shining heart.

Then his hands are at my waist. I lift up for him, and he peels me out of my jeans. Not exactly a classy moment—I’m like a giraffe, all bulging knees and kicking legs—but I forget about it the second he comes down on top of me, naked. So warm and strong and still a little bit rough. Not in an aggressive way, but in a sure way, which makes me believe I’m strong too, like my body is designed for this. To take his. Encompass all his power for my pleasure.

I wrap myself around him, tight as I can, and I fucking glory in it.

I love how solid and heavy he is against me. The way his back shifts under my hands. His cock jammed up against mine, which is kind of awkward and intimate at the same time. I swear to God I can feel the blood in it, beating hard under the skin, sort of its own little pulse. And, at the top of his groin, where the hair is thinner, individual spirals of it pressing into me like he’s leaving me this message in our own private graffiti.

We hold there for a bit, in this full-body embrace. His head is tucked in the space of my shoulder, his breath pooling hot against my neck, and I can sort of sight like a sniper down the sweep of his spine, all the way to his frankly magnificent arse.

And I think of all the secrets in him. The way his throat fluttered under my hand. How he looked when he knelt for me. The tenderness in him when he wrapped me up in a towel. And fuck, I want to know more. I want to know how his mouth feels round my cock. I want to know how he tastes in places I’ve never wanted to know how anyone tasted before. I want to pull his legs open and scratch my nails up his inner thighs. I want to make him hurt.

I’m so fucking greedy. I want to have everything.

“Jesus, Laurie.” I twist my fingers in his hair. It’s shockingly soft, especially at the nape of his neck. And he looks up, straight into my eyes. He’s got that desperate flush that makes my stomach turn cartwheels. “You’re like fucking…” I don’t actually know what I’m going to say. There isn’t a word big enough for how much I want him and for the way this makes me feel.

But it turns out I don’t have to say anything else.

“Turn over.” His voice has gone so low he actually sort of growls at me. Which is the hottest thing ever.

Though I don’t know why he says it, because he doesn’t give me a chance to do it. He just flips me. So fast I’m breathless. And staring kind of helplessly at the footboard which… Look, I’m a bit sheltered, okay? Whenever I’ve had sex before it’s usually been at somebody’s house, on a single bed, very, very quietly. Not that I’ve really felt much urge to scream the place down. But, yeah, I guess it never occurred to me not to lie with my head at the head end in the designated bed-occupying position.

But here I am now, with a guy who wants to fuck me so badly that I’m kind of diagonally sprawled and facing totally the wrong way, and he doesn’t care.

Yeah, okay, it’s a small thing. It’s pathetic. But it means something to me. There’s something kind of romantic about this idea he’s got and is sharing with me. That I’ve somehow become this crazy, lust-inducing version of me.

Instead of who I really am.

I reach out and curl my fingers over the beautifully carved end piece of Laurie’s four-poster. The wood is smooth as skin under my palms and warms up quickly. It’s weird, the sensory details you catch onto. There’s a man dragging my legs open…putting his mouth on the back on my neck, oh my fucking God…grinding his cock against my arse…and the detailing on his bed is kind of burned into my eyes like I’m never going to forget it.

I guess it’s my brain’s way of making sure I don’t explode of bliss.

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