STRIPPED (The Slate Brothers 3)

I bite my lip, torn between wanting him to suck my nipple again and wanting to tell him the truth. “I’m a virgin,” I say fearfully, voice rattling.

“I know,” Tyson says with the most telling expression I’ve seen on his face. The expression is one of pure hunger, pure lust. He leans in close, rubbing his thumb over the nipple that’s been between his lips.

“Tyson,” I tremble. “I’m— I’m more than just a virgin. I haven’t really done anything like…anything—“

“Don’t be scared. Besides, I’m not going to fuck you. Not right now anyway,” he says calmly, his words a promise that thrills and terrifies me. “I don’t like to hurry through things.” Tyson steps back a foot or so, and my body feels hot and wet and dizzy and needy. It’s not until he’s paused for a long while that I realize what I’m doing: Waiting for instructions. Waiting for him to tell me what to do. Because Tyson is in control now, and it’s exactly what I’ve wanted since that night under the deck.

He reaches over and opens the door of my bedroom, looking inside as if he’s deciding if the space is to his liking. He then turns back to me and takes a slow, deep breath, like he’s having to work hard to manage his desire.

“Go on,” he says, motioning through the door. With shaky knees— with shaky everything, actually— I step into my own bedroom, which is suddenly Tyson’s domain. I stop in the center of my room as he shuts the door behind me, and somehow, being sealed into this space with him relaxes me a bit. Tyson knows what he’s doing, clearly. I don’t have to worry, or be responsible, or study up, or be the person in charge. Not here.

Chapter 7

Tyson turns on the lamp at my desk, a dim, golden light that leaves us half in shadow. I watch him, arms folded over my waist instinctively, some of my residual nervousness still rattling into my fingers. He takes another breath— his body is so massive in my suddenly small bedroom. I see his eyes glance over the space, taking in my perfectly made bed, my stack of textbooks, my organized and paired up shoes. Each observation seems to make his desire to have me grow stronger, and I chew my lip when I notice his penis straining at the front of his pants. For me— he’s hard, he’s huge, and it’s for me.

“What are you looking at?” he says, and I start guiltily.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” he replies. “You were looking, Anna. I saw you staring.”

I feel my face flush. “Fine, maybe I was,” I say, trying to own it. “I was looking at your…”

“My dick. You can say the word.”

“Your dick. It’s…just…really standing out right now. It’s difficult to pretend it’s not there.”

Tyson tilts his head to the side, studying me, calculating. He then reaches forward to take my hand, and before I know what he means to do, he’s pulled my fingers to his groin. “Go on,” he commands. “Touch it.”

I am shaking so hard that it’s almost comical, but I’m also mesmerized by the feeling of Tyson’s hard, solid cock beneath my fingers. I run my fingers up, feeling contours at the head, wondering at how large it is. It’s at least nine inches long, I’m sure, and it’s impossible to think of this thing fitting inside me. I grow bolder, pressing my palm up against him, and Tyson groans, startling me. I yank my hand back; he’s quick to grab it and pull it back to him.

“Unbutton my pants,” he commands, and I obey, fumbling with the button and carefully dragging the zipper down. He nods at me, signaling that I should go on and pull his pants to the ground. When I’ve done so, I’m left kneeling on the floor; when I look up I yelp at the sight of his cock now straining at his boxers, tenting them out so far that it looks like something falsified— real life photoshop.

Tyson puts his fingertips under my chin and raises me to my knees, so my face is right in front of his cock. “You’ve never even seen a cock in real life, have you?”

I shake my head. “No. No—I…I haven’t.”

“Good.”

Tyson reaches down and pulls his shirt off, revealing rippled abs and pectorals that look like molded clay. I swallow at the sight; Tyson reaches down and guides me to stand before him, then puts my palms flat against his chest. His body is hot, his skin smooth, and I can’t stop myself from pulling my hands down, exploring the muscles, thinking of how strong and hard every part of him feels. He steps closer, and his cock presses into the top of my stomach; I gasp at the sensation, but don’t move away.