Page 47 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
“Oh my God,” she said, her voice muffled by her palms. She tried to wiggle away, but he gripped onto her thighs to hold her still. His tongue was hot and wet, smooth and rough. It was like some kind of torture dreamed up by angels.
She arched her back. Sensation exploded in her. She might have actually screamed, though she hoped that might have only been in her head. Daniel was grinning up at her like a devil, so she realized it must have been out loud.
He sank his teeth into the soft skin of her upper thigh. The sudden flip from pleasure to pain made her gasp.
She laughed shakily and said, “You’re very good at that.”
He grinned again, climbing back over her body like a lion over its prey. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”
He worked his way back up to her mouth, plunging his tongue now into her mouth. She could taste herself on him, salty and musky, and a little shocking that two separate people could be this intimate with each other.
“Damn,” he murmured against her mouth. “You taste good everywhere.”
He sat up, positioning himself between her legs, and undid his jeans. She pushed up onto her elbows and watched. The bulge of him in his tight boxers was obscene, and it made her mouth water. She had a sudden urge to reach out touch him, but fear stopped her.
He pulled a condom from his pocket. Using his teeth, he tore it open and rolled it on. He propped himself up with one arm, settling on top of her to avoid putting his weight on her. Taking her hand, he led it down between them to wrap around him. He was long and hot and hard.
She angled him until she could feel the blunt tip of him pressing against her.
He slid inside her, then stayed still for a moment, letting her body adjust to him. Leaning over her, he placed his forearms on either side of her head and kissed her, sucking her bottom lip and dragging it between his teeth. He made a low moan against her mouth, then he started to move. His lower body rolled sinuously against hers.
She bowed her back up to meet him, lifting her knees so they clamped around his ribs. He made a sound of almost misery and pressed his forehead against hers. “You like that, huh?” his words came on sharp pants between each thrust. “You like it when I’m all the way fucking inside you?” He grabbed both her hands and held them above her head and kissed her like he never had before. Like it was the last thing he wanted to do before physically leaving this earth.
His movements formed a rhythm, both urgent and steady, and with each one came a growing sensation inside her. She felt like she was hurtling towards some precipice. When she finally reached it, she teetered on the edge for a moment, hanging suspended in a feeling of intense pleasure, then she shattered.
Above her, Daniel’s body tensed, his legs shaking. His grip on her hands was so tight, it caused hurt. He stilled for a heartbeat, then thrust into her one more time. He broke off the kiss and groaned against her mouth. Whispered something unintelligible in Spanish or English, or maybe some made-up language of his own.
Rolling off her, he draped over his eyes. His torso glistened with sweat. “Santa madre de Dios y dulce Jesucristo,” he panted, dropping his arm.
She just lay there, not even trying to move. She felt like she’d melted to the bed. He turned to look at her, propping his head up on his elbow.
She curled around to face him, too. She didn’t want to say anything. She was content just to lie there and bathe in the way he was looking at her. He made her feel like she was truly beautiful, and not just in some superficial, physical way, but in some other nameless way that only he had the parameters for. It made her think that if she could spend the rest of her life being judged by him and only him, she might actually be happy.
He got up, kicked off his jeans and underwear, then went to dispose of the condom in the bathroom. She watched as he walked naked back to the bed.
He lay back down beside her, and she instinctively wiggled closer, their bodies drawn together like magnets.
“Can I ask you something?” she murmured.
He tensed. “What?”
“How many girlfriends have you had?”
His body relaxed. “None.”
She blinked, caught off guard. For a moment she didn’t quite believe him, then her eyes landed on the word ALONE inked along his skin by his jaw.
He held her gaze. “What do you really wanna know? How many girls I’ve fucked? Or how many I’ve been in love with?”
She hesitated, caught between two equally loaded questions. Then, finally: “The second one.”
He propped an arm behind his head, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “One. Her name was Gabby. She was twenty-three. I was eight.” A laugh rumbled low in his chest. “She was my babysitter. Guess I was punching above my weight even back then.”
She smiled, in spite of herself. That seemed to soothe the nerves that had crept in, but only for a moment.
She hesitated, then asked—casually, or at least trying to sound that way—“So… ballpark, how many girls have you slept with?”
The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. It sounded too insecure, too revealing. But she couldn’t help it. Compared to her own history—short, sheltered, careful—his past felt like another universe.
