But it felt so…fucking…good.
Warmth from her hand moved from the base of my cock to the tip and back down again. I couldn’t stop my hips from rising off the bed and pushing against her fingers as she moved up and down. The tension in my legs and back was incredible, and the tingling sensation from deep in my stomach dropped abruptly to my balls.
I grunted, gasped, and tried to form a sound that resembled Mayra but totally failed. Her hand gripped me a little harder as I bucked against it and felt the rush of sensations cascade over my body in a shudder.
My eyes flew open as I realized what the hell had just happened and that I had come all over Mayra’s stomach. Before I had a chance to panic over it, Mayra giggled and shoved herself up and over me. She dashed off to the hall bathroom and came back rubbing a hand towel over her belly. She crawled back over me and quickly wiped me down with the damp cloth, her cheeks turning pink in the process.
I might have been embarrassed if I hadn’t suddenly realized my mistake.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Mayra asked.
I could hear the alarm in her voice, and I cringed.
“What is it?” she asked again.
“I fucked up,” I whispered.
“What do you mean? Matthew, it’s fine. Just needed a towel; that’s it.”
“No,” I said with a shake of my head, “it was all out of order.”
“What’s out of order?”
“I was supposed to make you come first.”
“What?” Mayra’s eyebrows knitted together. “What are you talking about?”
“The book,” I said quietly.
“What book?”
“The book that…um…that said I’m supposed to make you come first.”
Mayra’s eyes stayed narrowed.
“What is the name of this book?” she demanded.
“Oh…um…” I stammered. “It’s…um…called She Comes First.”
I couldn’t believe I actually told her what I had been reading, so I shoved my head under my pillow to hide.
“Stop that!” Mayra laughed and tried to pull the pillow away from me, but I held tight. “Now you are just being silly!”
She dug her fingers into my sides, which made me break out into a fit of laughter. Being ticklish is not something I had really thought about. Tickling me wasn’t the sort of thing anyone had ever tried to do before. My mom had tried when I was little, but it never produced much of a reaction. But like everything else, it was different with Mayra.
I twisted around and grabbed for her hand, which is when she grabbed my pillow and tossed it across the room. I reached up to catch it, but I missed. Instead of catching the pillow, I got tangled up in my pants, which were still half way off my hips, and nearly fell off the bed. Mayra held tight to my forearm to keep me off the floor and continued to laugh her ass off.
Once I had righted myself again, I yanked up my pants so I was at least mostly covered and grabbed Mayra around the waist. I pulled her over the top of me and began to tickle her sides. Mayra started to shriek and try to get away, but I held tight to her and attempted to not be totally obvious about watching her boobs bounce around as she struggled.
Everything inside of me felt energized and tight. It wasn’t unlike the feeling I sometimes got right before going into a panic attack, but at the same time, I couldn’t stop smiling. Mayra continued to laugh; her boobs continued to bounce, and I felt incredibly, incredibly…
Happy.
Pulling her against my chest, I tucked my head into the space between her shoulder and her neck and pressed my lips to her throat—a silent announcement to the end of tickles. Her arms draped around my shoulders, and she pressed her lips against my forehead. With a deep inhale, I snuggled against her skin and just held her—still and quiet.
With my eyes closed and the scent of her skin in my nose, I felt calm and warm. Different things Mayra had done for me—everything from the first ride in her car and the haircut to cakes and hand-jobs—flowed through my head and added to the warmth I felt just under my skin. It wasn’t just that she had enough patience to wait for me to get my shit together when she was ready for anything and everything now, and it wasn’t just that she did things for me without really wanting anything back or expecting me to figure out the right words to express my gratitude. It wasn’t just her apparent desire to see and touch me or her willingness to reciprocate.