Brows knitted, he remained on pause. “Stupid about what? Talk to me.”
Oh God, the embarrassment. I covered my face with my hands, unable to look him in the eye. I was the worst. Trust me to kill the mood. “You’re just doing this out of pity.”
“No. I’m not.”
Maybe I should just crawl under the bed or disappear into the closet. Wait for him to go to sleep, then hightail it home. If I asked nicely, kept bringing him sandwiches for a while, we might even be able to pretend this never happened.
“Edie?”
I didn’t respond.
Oddly enough, there came the sound of a zipper being undone. Next, John grasped one of my hands, pressing it first to his mouth, then to his cheek. “Look at me.”
I sighed, but did so.
“You’re hot and soft. And you felt fucking amazing beneath me.”
“You’re kind.”
“Not even a little.” He pressed my hand to his heart, still beating double time. “Feel that?”
I nodded.
Then he led my hand down into his jeans, pressing my palm against the hardness beneath his underwear. “Now you feel that? That’s what we call a penis. You saw one earlier in the book, remember?”
Stunned, I said nothing. Of course I knew he had one and it would be involved in tonight’s activities. Though I don’t think I’d fully comprehended touching, feeling him. Even over the cover of his underwear. Attribute it to a lack of opportunities to fondle boys. I’d never gotten much beyond kissing and occasionally having a boob groped. Now here I had a penis almost in my hand.
“To be fair, I hear they get hard on some pretty flimsy pretexts,” I said.
“I’m eighteen, Edie, not twelve.” Once, twice, he kissed my lips. “I’m not closing my eyes and imagining someone else. That’s not what’s happening. I’m here with you. I want you, understood?”
My throat tightened, my eyes sore.
“Because you putting yourself down isn’t okay,” he said, gaze open, sincere, and a bit angry.
“Fine.” I sniffed, getting control of myself. So high maintenance, it was a wonder he didn’t kick me out of bed. Slowly, carefully, I gave in to curiosity, wrapping my fingers around him. “It’s not tiny.”
A hint of a smile curled his lips. “It’s not useless, either.”
A grunt and his hips pressed into my hold. His mouth covered mine once more and then my hand got firmly but gently relocated back to his chest.
“Later,” he mumbled.
Talented fingers followed the waistband of my boy shorts, teasing sensitive skin. Back and forth, he gently trailed his knuckles over the front of my underwear, from my navel to between my legs. Low in my belly tightened, the blood rushing through my veins.
When he finally slipped his hand into my underwear, I wanted him to feel me there, needed him to. Even the most delicate of touches made me shake. My bare legs shifted restlessly against the mattress, every muscle in me drawing tighter and tighter. John knew things, magical things. And while yes, I could have done this myself, having him with me made it so much better.
No time to be self-conscious or nervous. The sensation coursed through me, thrilling and complete. Sparkles and stardust and the best rush of endorphins. My whole body seized, fingers sinking into his back, mouth gasping for air. It took a while for me to come back down.
A finger sat hooked in the front of my waistband, questioning.
“We could stop here,” he panted.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Thank God.”
In a moment, my underwear went flying into a corner of the room. Together we got my dress up and off, over my head. His hot mouth covered my chest in kisses, fingers fighting with the back of my bra. Meanwhile, I attempted pushing down his jeans. We were an overeager catastrophe, a mess of mouths and limbs. God, it felt good.
I passed him one of the condoms off the nightstand. Determined though quietly freaking out. He got rid of his underwear and put on the protection. Face sober as he climbed on top of me, covering my body with the hot length of his.
“You’re definitely sure?” he asked.
“John! Please, would you just fu—”
His mouth fell on mine, hand sliding over my side before reaching between us. Slowly, he pressed forward. Strange, to be so impossibly physically close to someone. Over and over, he broke the kiss to check on me, always returning to my lips. I closed my eyes and hung on tight, trying to be relaxed.
It hurt. Natural though it might be, my muscles tensed just the same, resisting the intrusion. From nerves or the slight edge of pain, I don’t know. Then he was inside, burying himself deep, his body rocking against mine. One strong hand held my thigh, keeping my leg up and around him. Warm breath heated the side of my face, my neck. I stroked his back, slick with sweat, trying to memorize everything about him being so close. I held onto him and waited.
After a while, his movements grew jagged, faster. Body tense, he groaned, holding me hard against him. Puffing out breaths, he slumped on top of me, only taking some of his weight on his arms.
I’d done it. I’d had sex. How amazingly bizarre.
“You okay?” he asked in a quiet voice.
“Yes.”
Carefully, he withdrew, falling onto the mattress beside me. Then he looked down at himself. “Shit.”
“What?”
He grimaced. “Blood.”
Crap. Things between my thighs were a bit of a mess. “Oh, um, excuse me.”
I got off the bed and rounded up my bra, dress, and underwear. After cracking the bedroom door and listening for any signs of life from the rest of the house, I broke land speed records racing into the bathroom across the hall.
The girl in the mirror didn’t look any different. Mussed hair, pink cheeks, and swollen lips. Nothing permanent, however, seemed to have changed on the outside. Inside, things felt a little tender. I cleaned myself up and dressed. Then searched for a face towel to wet and take to John.
“I’d momentarily forgotten you don’t like the sight of blood,” I said, slipping back into the room.
A grunt.
“You okay?”
“Back in a minute.” After snagging his jeans off the floor, he took his turn in the bathroom. Apparently he wouldn’t be answering my question.
At a loss for what to do with myself, I took a seat at his desk and started putting on my boots. Sitting on the bed didn’t seem right. We’d done what we’d set out to do, and John didn’t strike me as the type to cuddle. Time to go back to being just friends.