Page 55 of Eyes in the Shadows

“I hate sports bras,” I mutter an explanation for my nudity, feeling my face heat under his stare. My nipples prickle, hardening with the cool air and my mounting arousal.

“Me, too,” he replies, so soberly that I laugh.

I play with the bottom of his henley, and meet his eyes with the question. He smiles, reaches up to grab the shirt from behind his neck—why is it so hotwhen guys do that?—and gives it a tug. I pretend like I’m helping, then finish pulling it inside out for him over his arms.

I run my fingertips across his chest, pausing at a few puckered scars, and trace the outline of each ridge at the top of his abdomen. His muscles contract under my touch, almost like it tickles. His skin is warm, and smooth, but there’s no give. Not like mine. Even the very strong parts of me, like my legs, don’t feel like this, like the wall of muscle is built harder, somehow. At most, I’m firm, not hard. The difference is almost hypnotic, it’s so fascinating.

And he’s exploring, too. His palms skate across my shoulders, down my arms, but pause as I find his belt buckle. I don’t look for permission this time, I just unbuckle, unbutton and unzip. Unlike my second-skin shorts, his pants fall with a little bit of help and gravity. Then we’re both just in our underwear, though his black boxers cover quite a bit more.

There’s something so intimate about undressing each other, and something so intoxicating about doing it for the first time. I feel like I’m unwrapping a present. My breath is quick, my pulse is racing, my face feels flushed… I reach for his boxers.

I’ve never looked at a naked man and wondered if it would fit, and frankly I’d hope not. But I’ll admit to a bit of apprehension as I reach to tug the fabric over the tent he’s made. Because Mac’s a large man, so it stands to reason his cock would also be large. And while I know that the human body—especially the vagina, what with childbirth and all that—can take quite a bit, the idea of having to grin and bear it isn’t really sexy to me.

As his boxers join his pants and he steps out of them, I’m both relieved he doesn’t have some elephant trunk down there, and thoroughly excited by the size. It’s just long enough, thick enough and has an upward curve that I know it’s going to fill me so good. And if he knows how to use it, it’ll hurt just the right amount.

I lick my lips.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me with that.” He steps forward and grabs for my waist again. I hold out my arms, thinking to resume where our kiss was cut short, but he pushes my whole body down and diagonally back so I land with a bounce on the mattress on the side of my ass with my legs curled out.

I look up at him quizzically as he wraps his large, warm palm around my ankle and tugs me forward. “You’re gonna stare at my dick and lick your lips like youthink it’s your turn first? Uh-uh. I’ve been thinking about this for way too damn long.”

I giggle as he pulls me towards him until my legs come over the side of the bed. For some reason, I just love that his idea of a “turn” isn’t about receiving an orgasm, it’s about giving one. He kneels at the edge of the bed, hooking his index fingers through the elastic at my hips, and pulls down the last piece of clothing between us, leaving a path of tingling sensations.

His breath is hot on the inside of my thigh, just before he places a kiss. I feel the scrape of his stubble more than the softness of his lips, but the sound of it, and knowledge that he’s on his knees for me, makes me feel cherished.

He splays his hands on the top of my thighs, jerks my legs apart, and holds me down.

God, I love the manhandling, too.

He doesn’t give me any time to be self-conscious about the normal first-time stuff—sights, smells, the other person’s opinions—because he just dives right in. Some guys eat you out like they wish they had an extra hand to hold their nose. Mac eats me out like he’s savoring the last bit of melted ice cream at the bottom of the bowl. I writhe under him, trying not to buck my hips but unable to stop myself, as he licks around my clit, across it, finally settling on upward strokes that are almost too gentle.

I grab onto the blanket as his fingers join the party, gently stroking along the slick skin, circling my entrance without penetrating it.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he croons, pulling away and watching my face as he enters me with two fingers.

My hands fly to his head, holding on, as my back arches and I moan loudly. I’m primed, but it’s been so long and I feel so full of him so quickly. He resumes working me with his mouth and his fingers move and curl inside of me, pumping gently. I’m so primed from what feels like days of foreplay, my release builds with unexpected swiftness. Electricity sparks under my skin, sending bolts of lightning to my core. They fizzle around him, collecting against his tongue, and are suddenly sent shooting in every direction.

I cry out, seizing up, tensing and shaking, and he holds me down and rides it out, unrelenting. My vision clouds, turning into black starlight. The release isacute, bringing prickly tears to my eyes, and there’s a roaring in my ears that dulls the wet sounds of his tongue and fingers. I tighten my hold on his hair just as the pleasure turns into something sour.

I’m breathing heavily when he pulls back, my head spinning a little from the intensity.

“You ready, baby?”

I don’t even care what for. I nod. I hope he means it’s my turn. I can’t wait to see what he feels like against my tongue…

He shifts his position on the floor and pulls me towards him, using the backs of my knees for leverage, and I’m suddenly sliding down the side of the bed, grappling for purchase. I land astride him with my knees barely touch the floor.

Well, I wasn’t ready for that. “Mac!” I protest, laying my hands on his chest and trying to shove off. There’s nowhere to go, the mattress is at my back. “I’m not a lap girl!”

His grip is like iron. “No? But it’s my lap and I say you are.”

I laugh, but it comes out as an anxious noise. I don’t want to sit like this, where I’m forced to look at the contrast between my soft body and his hard one. And it can’t be comfortable for his legs or knees. “Stop, I’m too heavy.”

“For what?” he asks, leaning back and bringing me with him.

I fall against his chest with a soft oof, and when I try to brace myself on the floor to push up, he locks an arm across my back. “Mac, stop—”

“Darlin’, the fact that you think you know better than me about what I can handle is starting to irritate me. Now, are you going to trust me, or are we going to end up right back where we started with you over my knee?”

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