part0010

A lex releases his grip on my ass and regards me with soft, warm eyes. “I was serious when I said I don’t have any expectations, okay?” Despite his relaxed posture and his reassurance, his voice is raspy—distilled sex over crushed ice.

Is this what he says to all the puck bunnies? If it is, I understand why it works. “Okay.”

I decide if we stay here on the sofa, there’s less risk of me getting completely naked. The notion is bereft of logic. The first time I had sex was on a couch, so the prospect that this is less dangerous than say, oh, a very large, comfortable bed, is ludicrous. I’m going with it anyway.

Alex kneads my ass while I grind on him shamelessly. At the same time, I’ve got a solid grip on his hair so I can keep his mouth locked to mine. He proves to be incredibly helpful with the whole hips shifting business. This is awesome, as far as making out goes.

The contrast of rough stubble and the softness of his lips against my throat send a delicious shiver down my spine.

I release his hair to explore the rest of his cut body. Muscles tense and jump under my touch. The top button of his dress shirt is undone and his tie hangs loose around his neck. Now seems as good a time as any to help him get more comfortable. I mean, I’m in my jammies and here he is, still mostly in a suit.

Unbuttoning involves multitasking, but I’m more than capable of getting his shirt undone while he kisses my neck.

Under the crisp dress shirt is a white tee stretched tight across a solid wall of chest. I’m certain they didn’t need to airbrush the milk ad all to shit to achieve his level of hotness.

Excited to find out, I slip my fingers under the hem, mindful this is similar to the unveiling of great art. I’ve never been this up close and personal with someone in such amazing physical condition. I want to revel in the reveal of his godlike body. Below his navel is a smattering of dark hair, a treasure trail leading to something close to gold . . . or diamonds—because he’s damn hard right now.

Washboard abs flex under my fingers. He raises his arms, and I lift the T-shirt over his head, careful of his busted lip and bruised jaw. Not bothering to hide my appreciation, I exhale on a low whistle. Tattoos accentuate each bicep. The left boasts a waving Canadian flag—long live patriotism—and the right has a set of hockey sticks crossed over a puck.

I can feel Alex’s eyes on me as I trace the hockey tattoo with a fingertip.

“You really love hockey, don’t you?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda my thing.” His hands drift up my thighs, arms flexing.

“I bet you could bench press me.”

“There’s a good chance.”

His fingertips breach the hem of my shirt. When my body jerks, he hesitates.

“Should I stop?”

“No, thanks. I’m ticklish.”

“Is that so?” He looks up from under abnormally thick lashes, wearing a devilish smile.

“Just here”—I point to my ribs—“and here.” I indicate the crook in my knee.

“I’ll watch for that.”

His hands ghost along my ribs. I suck in a breath and hold back a giggle.

As soon as he reaches my breasts, his thumbs sweep over my nipples. I moan like a street walker. Like, really, it’s an outlandish porn star moan. My face and chest heat with embarrassment.

Apparently Alex is good with the moaning. Still cupping my boobs, he looks me in the eye, waiting for the okay to take this further. With every kiss and every touch so far, he’s asked permission to move forward. It makes him infinitely sexier and harder to say no to.

I raise my arms in silent assent. Of course, when he removes my shirt, my glasses get caught in my hair. Alex wrestles them free and sets them on the arm of the couch where they’ll be safe.

And now we’re both topless. Alex stares at my boobs. It’s no furtive peek. He’s full-on staring. He cups them in his hands, which are huge—his hands, not my boobs; those are average sized. Then he bounces them around a bit.

He’s like a kid who’s figured out Jell-O jiggles if you poke it.

“I told you they were nice for real ones.” The way he’s staring makes me self-conscious, so my comment comes with extra snark.

“They really are. They’re so soft,” he murmurs, squeezing. “And perky.” He brushes his lips across my nipple.

His eyes lift at my gasp, maybe realizing I’m attached to the boob he’s making out with.

“Can I . . .” He trails off as his tongue peeks out, not quite touching my skin.

“Please and thank you.”

He closes his lips around the taut nipple and sucks gently. I bite the inside of my cheek in an effort to derail the sound forcing its way up my throat. I manage to keep it to a whimper as Alex massages one boob and makes out with the other one. I can’t seem to shut up with all the little noises of bliss.

His low chuckle follows. “You really like that, don’t you?”

It’s rather obvious I do, but I breathe out a so much and grind against him to punctuate my affirmation. While he’s engrossed in loving the shit out of my boobs, my hands are everywhere: in his hair, feeling up his arms and chest, going lower to skim his waistband.

Alex is in serious boob nuzzle mode. I almost expect him to do the whole motorboat thing. Fortunately, he doesn’t. He winds an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him. At my slightly desperate whine, he shifts his hips.

What I’m about to do will make me a full-fledged hockey hooker. Whatever, it’s only for tonight. I’m resigned—and excited—as I try to slip my hand past his belt and into his pants.

“We could go to the bedroom, if you’d like.” Alex’s hands have migrated down the back of my jammie bottoms.

“The couch is good.”

“The bed’s more comfortable.” His lips move up my neck to my chin.

I’m sure it is, which is the problem. I know where this is going. I won’t say no to him. I’ve seen Alex play hockey; he has incredible stamina. The point is moot, but the denial makes my failed attempt at resistance seem less offensive.

He kisses me, soft and searching. Like gummy bears left out in the sun, I melt right into him. Finding the clasp on his belt, I slip it through the buckle.

He must think my actions mean I agree with his suggestion. He grips my ass firmly and stands. Locking my legs around his waist, I hurry to free a hand from his pants and clutch his shoulder.

This is really happening. Like, for real. At twenty-two, I’m going to have my first one-night stand. With a hockey player, no less. So much for good judgment. Oh well, nobody’s perfect.

Alex sets me on the edge of the bed and flicks on the lamp. Of course he’s going for mood lighting. The soft glow magnifies the dips and curves of his body, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw and the bruise below his left eye.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know.” My voice trembles, excitement and nerves fusing.

I’ve always been a serial monogamist, waiting until the requisite fifth date or beyond to let a guy into my pants. It eliminated most potential mistakes. If the sex was decent, and so was the guy, I’d see where things went. Sometimes there were repeat performances, sometimes there weren’t.

I’m holding the waistband of his pants like there’s a pot of gold tucked inside. Letting go, I shimmy back on the bed, giving him enough space to join me. It’s a king; there’s plenty of room for frolicking. His eyes are low-lidded, his expression intense as he follows after me.

Fumbling and uncoordinated thanks to my loss of fine-motor function, I struggle to pop the button on his pants and pull down the zipper. Alex watches my hand disappear inside. It has to look good from his point of view. How can it not? Someone else’s hand in your pants is a winner of a situation. Soft, hot skin encases the hardest dick on the planet. It’s as solid as tungsten carbide. And there’s a lot of length.

I need to take a look at this thing. I push his pants over his hips, giving me room to check things out. Alex, being the helpful guy he is, takes them off the rest of the way, leaving him in a pair of boxers. I stick my hand back in, and when I finally manage to wrestle it free, my eyes are at risk of popping out of my head in visual-stimulus-induced fear.

First things first, Alex manscapes: there’s no 70s style dick fro going on down there. He’s not quite like my beaver—she sports only a short Mohawk—but he’s neat and tightly trimmed. I know some guys do this to make it appear bigger. In this instance, I’m positive I’m not gawking at an optical illusion. It’s huge .

Sometimes people exaggerate how big a guy’s dick is to make it seem better than it is. Like it’s clearly impossible for someone’s dick to be that big. This isn’t one of those times. Alex Waters is an aberration of cock.

“What is that ?” The question is inane. But, honestly, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?

Alex chuckles nervously. As is appropriate since I’m holding his dick and I’m clearly not sane.

“I mean, I know what it is. Obviously. Do you have some kind of . . . disorder? Like elephantiasis of the penis or something?” I did not say that out loud.

“It’s not that big.” His erection slides in my grip.

I can’t stop staring. My thumb and middle finger must have a good inch or more before they can meet. I squeeze to see if it helps bring them closer together. It doesn’t. What it does is make Alex groan, and that, oh holy monster of cock, is one hot noise. He’s also laughing, so it comes out all heavy with a snort thing at the end. It’s quite cute and endearing while also being sexy.

I finally look up to see if he’s serious. Bad idea. His arms are loose at his sides, head bowed, eyes dark, lips parted, chest rising and falling. He’s staring at my hand. I’m so glad Charlene convinced me to get a manicure earlier this week.

Licking my lips, I glance at his cock. He’s uncut. This is a night full of firsts. The way the skin wrinkles with each stroke toward the head and smoothes back out as I reverse the motion is entrancing. I bet it’s fun to play with when it’s soft. I remember he’s said something which requires a response.

“This is like a porno dick. I realize it’s not like a foot long or anything, thank Christ. The girth alone is staggering. There’s no way . . .” Have I been deprived of oxygen? Am I seriously coming up with arguments against having sex and voicing them?

Instead of stopping, I continue like the head-trauma victim I am. “It’s like a person who wears an extra-extra-large shirt trying to fit into an extra-small. What the hell do you think happens to the shirt? The seams split, and they burst out of it like the Hulk. I can’t even imagine the tragedy if my beaver exploded.”

Alex silences me with his mouth, and I am so, so grateful. I want to avoid saying more stupid shit, particularly to a guy I just met and am planning to have sex with.

“You know”—Alex shifts his hips forward again—“you’re pretty damn good for my ego. And the only kind of pussy explosions I’m hoping to cause are the ones associated with orgasms.” His voice travels over my skin like marshmallows drenched in hot chocolate syrup.

His palm covers mine and pries my hand away as he nudges my legs apart. “Is this okay?”

At my nod, Alex settles between my thighs. Only a thin, worn, cotton barrier in Spiderman print protects the land of Beave from invasion.

He claims my mouth again. Butter soft, his tongue tangles with mine, lazy and lulling. I let my hands wander from his shoulders and the broad expanse of his back to his rock-solid ass. I push down and lift my hips, and there it is—his monster of a cock.

I’m a panting, whimpering mess as I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him closer. I’m moderately terrified of his dimensions, but Alex distracts me with open-mouth kisses along my throat. He continues his descent to my breast.

I fist his hair and push my chest out. I’m not sure what purpose this serves. It’s not like he’ll be able to fit more boob into his mouth. He spends a few minutes loving them like they’re deluxe cheeseburgers after a night of binge drinking. All the while, I grind with him, lost in sensation and his little hums of approval.

Eventually, he releases my nipple and licks the tip. “You okay to keep going?”

At my nod, Alex eases his hand down my side, grazing the ticklish spot on the way. I giggle and twist away.

“Sorry.” He presses a kiss below my navel, sits on his heels, and my legs drop from around his waist. With his eyes on mine, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my Spidey pants. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

There’s a moment of hesitation on his part, so I push them over my hips. He helps remove them and tosses them on the floor.

And I’m naked in front of a porno centerfold with a preternaturally large dick. So this is an inferiority complex. Interesting. I’m sure I can deal.

Alex runs his hands up my calves and kisses the sensitive spot on the inside of my knee. He glides his palms along my inner thigh and stops inches away from where I’m aching to be touched.

“Yes?” Lifting his head, he waits for permission to continue.

No is not an option. Not with his hands where they are or his polite request. I open my legs in invitation. I’m practically hyperventilating as he makes a slow pass over sensitive skin with his thumb, barely grazing my clit.

He shakes his head. “I can’t even. You’re so . . .” His eyes shift to mine. “This is for me?”

It’s like a torrential downpour south of my navel. I shrug. Giraffe-sized red blotches break out across my chest. “It would appear that way.”

He brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it. His eyes flutter closed. He turns his face into my leg, biting high up on my inner thigh and sucking hard.

Wet kisses mark a path on the inside of my thigh. Is he really going to? No way—oh yes, he is.

But not right away. Oh no, Alex is the best kind of tease. He nibbles at the juncture of my thighs, drawing out the anticipation before his mouth is finally on me. It’s been a long time since anyone has given me face-to-pussy resuscitation. I don’t remember it being anything close to this incredible.

“Jesus, you’re . . . do you like that?” His words are muffled because he’s busy licking away.

The hair gripping and hip bucking should make it clear I do, in fact, like it.

I moan a garbled God yes, Alex to ensure my pleasure sounds are taken in an affirmative context.

Hot breath caresses hotter skin as he eases a finger inside. Intense sensation builds and spirals. Heat rolls over me in a crushing wave, funneling through my limbs to the center of my body. He adds another finger and twists up and in, hitting the heavenly spot I can only get to with my fake plastic friends.

It’s an intense burn, rising higher as his fingers keep time with the soft strokes of his tongue and the intentional grazes of his teeth. I’m holding on—barely—wanting to submit to the sensation, desperate for it not to end. When he adds a third finger, my toes curl. White heat radiates across my skin.

I curse as my legs fight to close. Alex holds them open with his forearms, fingers moving faster until I’m coming, and coming, and coming some more.

He places a tiny kiss on my clit and follows a straight line up my body with his mouth, pausing at each nipple on the way until his lips meet mine.

“It was . . . I . . . you . . . awesome.” It’s as coherent as I’m going to get. I reach between us and grab his cock. “Return the favor?”

He graces me with a snort. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the best idea right now.”

Of course it’s a good idea; you give, you receive, right? He nabs his wallet from the nightstand. He flips it open, retrieves a quartet of foil squares, and tears one free with his teeth. Seems like an awful lot of condoms. Two is smart, in case one ends up a casualty of misrolling. Maybe it happens often, so he comes extra prepared. With a quick zip, Alex rips open the foil packet and rolls on the condom.

“I’ll make you feel good. I promise.”

“Take it slow, Trigger, there’s a lot going on there.” I motion to his wrapped cock.

He runs a soothing hand from the outside of my knee to my hip.

His kiss is all soft lips and sweeping tongue. The thick head probes low, and Alex makes several unhurried passes until we’re both panting again. Propped up on one arm so his eyes are on me, he eases inside. I panic and tense, clamping down like Fort Knox.

“Relax, beautiful,” he whispers against my mouth. The way he says it, warm and needy, makes my whole body liquid. He goes deeper. “That’s it, Violet.”

He’s right; it feels really good. I groan.

When he pauses, I tighten my legs around his waist to urge him on.

“You weren’t kidding,” he murmurs, circling his hips but staying deep once he’s inside me.

“The whole extra-small thing.”

I link my fingers behind his neck. “It’s because you’re a double-XL.”

He eases back and rocks forward. We both whore-moan. “I’m glad your pussy hasn’t exploded.”

I snort-gasp-giggle. “Me, too.”

With each measured thrust, I lift to meet him. Everything turns suddenly intense as he pulls out—way, way out—and pushes in again.

As the heat and the need expand to consume me, he draws one of my legs up, changing the angle. I gasp when he hits the . . . beaver button and then choke on a laugh and end up sounding like a dying animal.

“You okay?” Alex strokes my cheek.

It’s one of the most intimate gestures I’ve ever experienced in the middle of being sexed by anyone. My previous lovers have been pretty unimpressive in comparison.

“Fantastic. Carry on.”

His relief is a warm blanket of desire as he resumes his partially finished thrust.

At my insistence he goes harder and faster. Alex has unbelievable stamina, as expected. He’s like the Energizer Bunny on crack with an amazing dick. Without the slightest bit of warning my entire body flushes. The spark ignites, bursting to flame. I grip his shoulders as I come again, ecstatic I’m getting off during sex, which never happens. Volume control gone, his name is a scream on my lips.

He bites out a dirty expletive and buries his face against my neck as he pumps erratically, chasing his release. Spent, Alex collapses on top of me.

I run my fingers through his damp hair, both of us breathing hard, our hearts beating double time. As awesome as this has been, I’m going to be sore in the morning.