Patrick smiled and pressed a soft, openmouthed kiss to Tove’s clit as the last shuddering waves of her orgasm subsided. A sated groan was her only response and he rose from his position on the floor, looking at her, loose-limbed and flushed, her pale hair spread in messy waves across the bedspread.
“Gorgeous.”
Her hand slapped over her eyes. “I’m sure I’m nothing like gorgeous,” she said, pushing her body up toward the pillows.
He slid onto the bed next to her. “Gorgeous,” he repeated, pulling her hand away from her face and curling his arm around her waist, tugging her close, his erection pressing against her belly.
“Oh.” Her eyes popped open and her hand stroked down to touch him with hesitant fingertips.
“Oh. Yeah. Oh yeah.” He let her continue her tentative exploration even though it was exquisite torture.
“What do you want?” she asked, her question the barest whisper.
“Do you really want to know what I want?” he asked, forcing his eyes to meet hers.
“Yes.”
“I’d love to make you come again. Around my dick. I want to feel you squeeze and spasm and see your cheeks flush as you lose control.”
“Lose control?”
“Yeah. I think you’d enjoy the novelty of it,” he said, kissing her softly to take any unintended sting from his words.
“I’ve never…” She bit her lip and looked to the side, her fingers stilling on his throbbing dick.
“Never what?”
“Never…had an orgasm from intercourse. In fact, I’ve never—just now—that fast—”
He threaded a lock of hair behind her ear. “Then I’m glad I could be the one to do it for you.”
“You don’t think I’m hard work?” she asked, her voice small and shy.
Yeah, the men she’d been with before him were tools. No question about it. “No, you’re not. But also, there’s nothing wrong with a little hard work. It’s good for the character.”
At that, Tove laughed convulsively.
“So, how about it? You in?”
She looked at him speculatively. “I think that’s your job. In, I mean.”
“Well, then. Can’t keep a lady waiting.” He got to his feet, aware of her eyes following him as he dug in his bag for a condom.
“We exchanged test results,” she said as he walked back to the bed, opening the packet. “And I can’t get pregnant by now.”
“All true, but I want you to be absolutely comfortable.” He stroked himself a few times, loving the way she openly watched him, her pupils expanding across her irises until only the tiniest thread of blue showed. Then he rolled the rubber on and settled himself over her. He had the sense from her earlier reaction that his taking a little control—a tiny power exchange, as it were—might be a turn-on for her. After all, she was always in charge. Time for a little variety. Let someone who knew what they were doing take care of her for once.
Easing his hips forward, he notched the head of his cock at her entrance, watching her face the whole time. There was a little anxiety in her expression, yes, but a kind of anticipatory alertness, too.
Damn. This woman absolutely had not had enough good sex in her life.
Patrick set about fixing that.
It had been so very long since Tove had done this, she was worried that she’d get it wrong somehow. Like, maybe the act had changed. She inhaled a little, startled at how her flesh, already swollen and sensitized from her first orgasm, responded to the steady intrusion. It felt so good. Overwhelming and a little scary, but good. He had licked her so thoroughly that he slid in without any dryness at all. Patrick watched her with a steady intensity that made her breath catch in her throat as he finally pressed his hips all the way to hers. He swallowed and took a shuddering breath.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Very.” She was surprised at how breathy she sounded.
“Kiss me and find out how good you taste.”
She blinked. The few times a man had ever gone down on her had been disappointing and, blaming her for her lack of responsiveness, that had been the end of everything. Patrick’s mouth descended on hers as his hips pumped in a single, long stroke. She could taste what she guessed were her own fluids on his lips. How strange. And strangely arousing. A spasm went through her and she squeezed him as he moved into her again.
“That feels nice,” he murmured against her lips, then kissed her again as he ran one hand down her leg and pulled it up, wrapping it around his hip and enabling him to push even deeper. She gasped. “You still okay?”
She nodded, realizing her eyes were closed. When had she done that? She opened them again and gazed up at him. There was a small part of her that seemed to exist outside her body and it was almost unable to believe that this was happening, that she was doing this. That she was comfortable with it.
“Is there anything you need?” he murmured, his gaze flicking down to her lips then back to her eyes, a hand teasing at one of her nipples. He thrust slowly and ground against her in a way that made her gasp.
“Yes, that.” Whatever that had been, she wanted more of it.
He nodded and settled his weight on his elbows, keeping his hips tight to hers and rolling in tiny, nudging thrusts. “Oh. Yes. That.” The pulsing pressure had her pleasure rising again, but this time it was a fluttering, fragile thing, not the runaway train her first orgasm had been.
“That’s right. Just feel,” he murmured, and she closed her eyes again and mentally chased the sensations. That tenuous—but building—pressure and urgency, the pull low in her belly as if her sex was connected to it. She started to strain, to chase the sensation, but he murmured again. “Easy. Just relax. Let it happen. Don’t make it happen.” Then a low chuckle. “Let me do the work. You’re safe.”
He paired his words with a pulse and grind of his hips, and she gasped as pleasure flared again. Not an orgasm, but something close to it. He retreated, then, moving his hips in long, slow strokes. She wanted to protest, to get the feeling back, but he murmured again, “You’re safe. Trust me.”
He alternated movements after that, switching up that close, deep grind that drove her ever closer to climax with longer, more languid strokes that felt wonderful but didn’t do…that. She clung to his shoulders, feeling almost like her body wasn’t her own, that she was along for this ride—moving with him, yes—but not at all in control.
When she felt like she was nearly wrung out with the advance and retreat of it all, he pushed his hips closer, reaching even deeper inside her than before and began again. This time, he was direct and deliberate and her body gathered together, coiling and twisting until it shattered with pleasure. If the first orgasm had been a freight train, this one was a thunderstorm, a derecho blowing through her system with one-hundred-mile winds, leaving her practically sobbing with the intensity of it. Above her, Patrick surged into her a few more times and then was still, tense and unmoving, then the muscles of his back under her hands unwinding and shuddering as he groaned.
She dropped her hand over her eyes as he carefully rolled off of her. “That was… I have never in my life… I don’t know what to say.” She shifted to her side. “Except thank you.”
Patrick wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen that kind of breathless astonishment on a woman’s face after sex. He kissed her, a mere echo of the passion they’d experienced merely moments before. “My pleasure. Literally.”
She blinked as if she was still a little dazed. “What now?”
“Well, I get rid of the condom and then I think maybe we should have a little nap. Unless you have mother-of-the-bride things to do.”
She shook her head. “Wedding planner has it under control.”
“Nap it is,” he said, rolling to his feet and going to the bathroom to clean up. By the time he returned and programmed his phone alarm, her lids were already drooping. Stress plus sex equaled sleep, he guessed. “Come here,” he said, sliding in behind her and fitting her body to his, an exquisite little spoon for him to cradle.
That was the last he knew until his phone chirped two hours later.