Page 69 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
He was sat on the sofa, blankets tossed casually on the coffee table, and he was watching a sitcom on the television.
“Ummm…?”
His head turned and she found herself dropping her head, and playing with the sleeves of the hoodie again. “You okay, petal?”
“I…I was wondering if you wanted to… I mean, it’s a big bed and I…”
He stood and walked over to her, one finger under her chin, raising it ‘til she could meet his eyes. “What is it that you need?”
“You.” She blurted out the word and would have turned her head away sharply to hide if his eyes hadn’t sparkled. Blue eyes, shot with a splash of gold, that were kind and happy and hungry. Oh, she realised, he wants me.
She’d technically known that already, especially if their make-out session earlier was anything to go by, but to realise it now, when her body was humming with need and he was close, oh so very close to her, well. It was certainly something.
He moved his finger so that his hand cupped her cheek, and then the nape of her neck. “Tell me again. What do you need? Who do you need?”
“You. Please.” Her words were more resolute, more unwavering than she’d ever known them, and she felt a jolt of pleasure when his eyes darkened at that second word. At her pleading.
And then his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, walking her backwards until she could feel the wall flush behind her, and at some point their hands brushed against each other, tugging fervently at the hoodie that slid over her head until she stood, clad in nothing but her underwear, his eyes caressing every inch of her.
“I want you too, petal. I want you writhing beneath my hands, my mouth, and I want you to come apart on my cock. Would you like that?”
She squeaked in reply, desire momentarily stealing her voice, and nodded eagerly, desperate to have him put his words into action.
He laughed then, delighted, this deep warm sound that felt like a stroke against her clit and she leaned towards him for another kiss. “Please?” In this moment, she thought that she’d do anything to feel him for real against the throbbing of her clit, his fingers replacing the caress of his voice, as she let go for him. Let it all go.
Then he was taking her hand and pulling her back into his bedroom, to that bed. Drawing her along, drawing her towards him, until he gestured to the bed, adding with warmth in his voice, “Sit down, I can’t have you falling over.”
Despite that, she almost fell over in her hurry to sit down anyway, her peal of laughter at the irony ringing out, echoed by him. And that was good. Laughter was sexy, even if tripping over her own feet wasn’t.
“I’m sitting down.”
“I want to make you feel so so good, but you need to trust me. Do you trust me?” As he spoke, he started to unbutton his shirt. She watched his hands’ deft, swift movements, undoing button by button – as if there were any other way to unbutton a shirt.
She nodded, wide-eyed, as her lips parted and she leaned upwards for a kiss.
“Wait a moment.”
She stopped. Waited for him.
“How will you tell me if it’s too much?”
“Too much?” This was all too much already, too much waiting, too much tension, too much not enough-ness.
“Oh petal, I intend to make you come until you lose your mind, til you’re begging me for a breather. So how will you tell me if it’s too much? If you need a break, or you need me to stop? Because otherwise I’ll just keep going and going.”
She took a jagged breath, suddenly desperate for air. The thought of coming for him again and again had her pussy clenching and her clit throbbing. He chuckled at the look on her face. “Oh, you like the sound of that?” His belt was tugged through belt loops, then dropped to the floor, before his hands paused at the top button of his jeans. “Well then? How will you tell me?”
Her right hand tapped three times on the bed. Tapping out. Because she had a feeling that if he was going to make her come as much as he said he would, she might need a sign that didn’t involve speaking.
“Oh I like that, petal, tapping out like the fiercely strong fighter that you are. Okay then. That’s your sign. Now, move back for me.”
His jeans were gone and she had a glimpse of a hard length straining against his boxers before she scrambled up the bed. He followed her and then, with confident hands that fumbled a little with the complexity of the clasp at her back, he undid her bra, sliding it down her arms and cursing softly as the fullness of her breasts came into view.
“They’re not,” she found herself stammering, “gravity defying,” but he put aside her self-consciousness with a single kiss, reaching behind her to adjust the pillows, that small movement implying affection and tenderness far beyond the lust in his eyes.
“I don’t need gravity defying. I need you,” and then slowly, gently, he pushed her back until she was lying before him. Laid out for him, lace hiding soft curls, and breasts aching for his mouth. With tantalising slowness, he lowered his lips to one nipple and sucked, pinching the other with his fingers and she moaned out loud without meaning to. He looked up and met her eyes, lifting his head briefly so that each word he spoke teased the wet puckered peak he’d just had in his mouth. “I love it when you moan. I want to know each and every time I make you feel good, so you be as loud as you want for me.”
She fought the urge to look away, to hide her shyness from him, but instead met his eyes and nodded slowly. And he kept her gaze as he lowered his mouth back down and made her moan again. Each lick and suck and gentle bite had a direct line to her clit, she realised. That he had her squirming beneath him just like he said he would, and when one hand danced along the lace gusset of her underwear, she realised she was wet for him too.
