Losing It

I shake my head.

“Try,” he says.

“If I try, I’m just going to think about how I’m not supposed to be thinking.”

“Try anyway.”

“But—”

“Focus on the sensations.”

I shake my head.

“Try. If it’s not working, it’s not working.”

“Okay.” If this is really what I need to do… somehow, I’ll have to learn.

It’s eluded me for twenty-two years.

But maybe it’s possible.

Maybe…

“Quinn.” He drags his fingertips over my temple. Along my jawline. My chin.

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“I’m trying.”

“Close your eyes.”

I shoot him a really look.

He nods really.

Fine. I close my eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to follow my movements. Try what I do.”

“Okay.”

His fingers curl into my hair.

He holds me in place as he brings his lips to mine.

Again, he sucks on my bottom lip. Softly. Then harder. Then the gentle scrape of his teeth.

Desire floods my body.

My sex whines for attention.

I’m empty.

It’s not an entirely new sensation, but it’s more intense than ever.

I want him to fill me.

I want to make him this crazy.

I bring my hand to the back of his head. Knot my fingers in his hair. Wrap my lips around his bottom lip.

Suck softly.

Then harder.

He yelps as I scrape my teeth against his flesh.

Shit.

I pull back. “Too hard?”

“A little.” He rubs his lip with the back of his hand. “But good.”

“Really?”

His nod is sure. Confident. “Try again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s hot you got carried away.”

It was more a lack of technique, but I don’t argue. His compliment feels too good.

All of this feels too good.

My entire body is buzzing with the strangest mix of nerves and desire.

I want him.

And I’m terrified of screwing this up.

But I… I’m getting over it.

No thinking.

Just doing.

I close my eyes. Knot my hand in his hair. Bring my lips to his.

Suck softly. Then harder. Then it’s my teeth—as gentle as I can.

He groans against my lips.

His hips buck against mine.

He’s still hard.

Fuck, it’s amazing.

His tongue slips into my mouth. Swirls around mine. Slowly. Then faster. Then slower again.

I copy the gesture. Vary my speed. My pressure.

It’s close.

But not quite there.

Wes pulls back.

His eyelids flutter open.

His baby blues fix on me.

There’s something in his expression. Some mix of affection and pride.

Maybe because I’m getting it right.

Or maybe because he likes me.

My stomach flutters.

My limbs get airy.

I need to draw that line. We’re friends. He’s teaching me. There’s nothing romantic about this.

But he has such pretty eyes.

How can I say anything that will make him look away?

“Better.” He brushes my hair behind my ear.

My eyelids press together.

Fuck, that’s intense.

Tender.

Sweet.

Hot.

“Can we keep going?” I ask.

“Fuck yeah.” He brings his hands to my waist.

I stare up into his eyes for a long moment. Then I bring my lips to his.

He kisses back right away.

His tongue slips into my mouth.

His fingers trail along my chin. Down my neck. Over my collarbones.

He traces the neckline of my dress. Back and forth and back again.

I arch my back, bringing our bodies closer.

His cock brushes my stomach.

It’s thrilling and terrifying.

I try to copy his gestures. To run my fingers over his cheeks and chin and neck. But it’s not quite right.

His fingers curl around my wrist.

He takes my hand. Brings it to his hip.

Then closer.

Closer.

Closer.

There.

My palm brushes his crotch.

I can feel him through his jeans.

Fuck, I’m twenty-two and this is the closest I’ve come to touching a guy.

I’m hopelessly behind schedule.

And I…

What do I do?

I apply a little more pressure with my palm, but it doesn’t cause a reaction. He doesn’t groan against my lips or tug at my hair or rock his hips.

It’s not bad—he isn’t stopping me—but it’s not good either.

I ease up on the pressure.

Try rubbing him the way I rub myself.

It’s not quite the same—there’s a lot more, um, surface area, and it’s over his jeans—but it’s better.

I’m not sure how I can tell.

I just can.

Wes breaks our kiss to groan. His reaches for my hand. “Not yet, angel.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to come in my jeans.”

My cheeks flush.

My sex clenches.

He’s so good at making me feel this strange mix of desperate and nervous.

“Give me your hands,” he says.

I do.

His fingers wrap around my wrists. He slips both under his t-shirt.

One palm presses against his stomach. The other against his chest. Soft skin covers hard muscle.

He’s so warm.

So hard.

So… good.

There’s no other way to describe it. He just feels good. Like he’s supposed to be against my hands.

Like we’re supposed to be touching each other.

His eyelids flutter closed.

His lips find mine.

I kiss him harder.

He brings his hand to my chest. Cups me over my dress.

Mmm.

He finds my zipper. Undoes it. Pushes my dress to my waist.

He cups my breast over my bra.

Then under it.

He drags his thumb over my nipple. Back and forth. Then up and down. Around and round.

My thoughts dissipate.

My body buzzes.

Every brush of his digit sends desire right to my core.

He toys with me until I’m panting, then he moves to my other breast, and he does it again.