Page 38 of Deep Gap

My face must betray my underlying thoughts, because Byron doesn’t question if I’m sure. He doesn’t say he’s fine continuing to wait. I’m not waiting anymore. I’ve asked us to be patient about this long enough. I don’t want to discuss anything or rehash the list of regrets I might feel afterward. I do few things on my terms, and this is one that I hold the position of power on. I won’t fight the turbulent emotions about finally having sex, wondering what it feels like to surrender the last bastion. Byron will love me in the morning. I know he will.

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I remove Greer’s bottoms and shuck my own. Exactly zero about what we’ve ever done in bed has been chaste. Our self-restraint, my self-restraint, has only denied us the last act. This moment is important for Greer. Yet she’s the same woman who doesn’t want to be handled with kid gloves. She’s ready to make this choice. Given that Greer plays with her pussy for me, and that she’ll hold my fingers deep in her cunt when I use them to penetrate her, telling her I’ll go slow or that I’ll do my best so her first time isn’t painful seems inane. I’d never hurt her.

I hook one of her legs over my elbow. Her other splays, her thigh falling to the side. She opens wide for me with the faintest coy smile playing on her lips. She’s confident in the decision she’s making, though her cheeks flush with anticipation. Spread out in my bed, her pussy glistens, pink and swollen. If I thought for a second she’d let me, I’d shimmy down her body, lick the sweetness from her folds, and make her toes curl. I’d like to hear my name fall from her lips and for her to beg me to fuck her, but there will be other times.

Stifling the thought that I should ask her if she wants me to put on a condom, I remember we’re together. Tonight, tomorrow, for as long as Greer will have me. I’m hers and she’s mine. We’ve laid our souls bare. I’ll take everything that comes along with taking her skin to skin. The unknowns aren’t really all that mysterious to an almost forty-year-old guy, are they? And the trust she’s putting in me—the confidence she has that I’m honorable and would never intentionally hurt her—makes me believe I am a decent man.

Greer’s eyelashes flutter as I slide the tip of my dick against her slit. Her breath comes in pants. Her breasts jiggle as her chest rises and falls. She’s so beautiful and I can’t believe she’s giving herself to me.

I hold her leg underneath the knee and lean in, notching my cock into her channel. The short swift thrusts make Greer mewl. The tiny cries I know by heart from when I’ve worked her over. Her pussy quakes with soft ripples that grip me.

Resting my weight on one shoulder, I groan. “You feel so fucking perfect squeezing me already, honey bee,” I whisper in her ear before kissing her.

She’s been so wet whenever we’ve been intimate I’ll have Greer milking my cock in no time. Just the thought of getting her off has my balls tightening.

Her hands are everywhere on my body, sliding down my biceps and up over the ridges in my back. Her fingers tangle in my hair, sucking my tongue into her mouth with drunken passion. I love that she’s not holding back. That she loves this one last step we’re taking. That’s she was ready to share her body with me fully. That Greer is mine, and that I’m hers.

I press in harder, rotating my hips and grinding the base of my cock against her clit. At the conclusion and beginning of each consecutive circle, Greer whimpers. Her fingers knead into my ass, drawing me closer if I put a fraction of an inch of space between our torsos. She kisses me like she can’t get enough, and I devour her lips in kind as her touch becomes staccato, pinching and grabbing my skin, chasing the blissful high.

Her hips meet every motion, spurring me on, showing me what she likes. She’s so close.

“Byron!” Greer cries. Her voice hitches as her body tenses. Her nails dig into my shoulder blades. She peaks and I ride her climax, praying I won’t give into her orgasm without giving Greer a little more of the gratification she deserves.

Once she’s found purchase, her hands gravitating downward to my ass, I push back on my knees and flip her leg over my head. She’s even tighter in this position, with the flesh between her knees swollen. I bind her slender ankles with a fist, grunting and rutting. Greer’s back arches. She flattens a single palm against the headboard. The other hand still digs in, guiding my thrusts, ensuring she’s enjoying this.

I grit my teeth, able to tell when I hit the spot that drives her wild. Pleasure and pain are spelled out on Greer’s face. It’s the look of ecstasy and my ego is at an all-time high because I’m the one she wants putting it there.

My hips snap back and forth, harder, faster. She expels a flurry of dirty words before saying, “Please come. Please, make me come again. I need to feel it. I need to feel you.”

Her pleading is all it takes for me to crash over the edge. I slam home, using my forearms to brace myself over her, hoping the force of spilling inside of Greer sets off her second orgasm. I’m rewarded with a deep, pulsing quiver that sucks my remaining energy dry and fills me up like nothing else ever has.

I hang over Greer. Her eyes are closed. The coy smile she wore before has morphed into something lazier, yet seemingly as self-assured. Though I could endlessly watch her relaxed and satiated expression, I pull out. In a fluid motion, Greer turns toward me as I gather her up in my arms.

I kiss her sweaty forehead. “How do you feel?” I ask with a “was it okay” inflection.

I’m not worried Greer didn’t like it. But I’m not as cocky a bastard to assume my performance was perfect, or that Greer might not need reassurance that I’m here to talk out whatever she’s feeling.

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I snuggle under Byron’s arm. My mouth opens and closes. Trying to find the right words.

A part of me—a big part of me that I’ve always psychologically battled with over never just “giving it up” to a male lover—is having her “I told you so” moment. However, that doesn’t mean she was right. I’m glad it was Byron. That we shared our bodies the way we had before we shared all of us with the other person. And that the things we learned the other liked while spending nights together in my bed led the experience in his to be everything I wanted it to be.

Let’s be honest, I wasn’t exactly a purist before we had sex. I’ve never been shy about touching myself, not even in front of him. Byron’s brought me to orgasm, leaving my thighs drenched when I come on many occasions. The worst idea of losing my virginity would’ve been him treating me like a delicate flower when he’s stretched and fondled me and found out for himself what makes my entire body blush—and I don’t mean from embarrassment.

I measure what I have to say and then go for broke, having faith he’ll understand. “It was familiar and, at the same time, so different.”

“That’s definitely a good way to put it.” He huffs a little laugh. “Are you sore?”

“No. I’m—I’m wet?” the pitch of my voice rises and I shift on the mattress. “I think I’m laying in a puddle.”

My quip has Byron full-on laughing. “If you want me to use something next time, condoms make clean up less messy. Well, at least for you it would.” He trails a finger down my collar bone. Circling my breast, he encases it with his palm and tweaks my nipple. “Need to suck on this.” Byron ducks his head. The pull of his mouth reaches between my legs, but I can’t let go of his last comment.

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