"That's what I'm hoping, even though Hazel will return eventually." I fumble in my bag for my keys, feeling Damon's breath at the back of my neck. Heat radiates from where his breath brushes my skin, spreading on my shoulders, down my arms, chest, and further down, until my intimate spot is pulsing. "Damn it, where are they?"
Damon lays an arm around my waist, pulling me gently to him.
"Relax, Dani," he whispers. I nearly giggle in relief when I find the keys.
"Here they are."
I unlock the door and welcome Damon in our living room.
"This place is huge compared to my dorm," Damon comments, and I can tell he's trying to make small talk to put me at ease.
"Hazel's mom made sure we got one of the largest units available on campus. Our bedroom is pretty small, though. Wish we'd gone for a unit with separate bedrooms." I open the door to the bedroom, experiencing the same feeling of nervousness I did when I first welcomed him in my room back home. After Damon left, I started reading steamy novels—part of my rebellion. I found out I really liked them. I really hope my reading will substitute my lack of experience.
"See? Tiny."
"You’re blushing." Damon runs his fingers over my neck, then down my chest. "That makes self-control very hard for me, you know that, right?" He bows his head, and I moan when his lips touch my neck. I fist his hair, willing him to continue. "I missed you. God, I missed you," he mutters against my skin. His hands roam over my back, their touch making my nerve endings shimmer. I slide my hands under his shirt, caressing his rippled muscles. Every single one is as contoured as I remember.
I become putty in his hands, a mere slave to my need, driven by desire. He nibbles at my lower lip then tugs at it with his teeth. He removes my top, leaving me only in my bra. Sitting on my bed, I pull his jeans down, biting my tongue as I take in the sight of him in his boxers. Then he gets rid of them, and I suck in a deep breath. I want to caress his thickness, but have no idea how to do it right. Focus, Dani. You’ve read enough romance novels. You can do this.
Just as I gather some courage, doubts overcome me again. Sure, I’ve read enough novels, but they didn’t spe
cifically say how hard to squeeze, or exactly how fast I should move my hand. Damn it. Why doesn’t sex come with an instruction manual?
“Dani, stop looking at my dick as if you’re about to dive into a science experiment.”
I glance up to find Damon looking at me. Oh, crap. How long have I been staring at his shaft? He grins, beckoning me to touch him. I wrap my palm around his thickness.
“That’s right. Now move your hand up and down,” he says huskily. Furrowing my brows, I do as he says.
“Is this okay? Should I do it faster, or—”
“You’re doing great.” His eyes are locked on mine, his chest moving up and down faster than before.
“Show me.” I say the words in a whisper so low, I fear he might not hear me. But he does and places his hand over mine, pressing on my fingers. I tighten my grip. Then he changes the tempo to more rapid movements. When he pulls his hand away, I continue. Following my instinct, I stroke him even faster. He grunts out my name.
I keep my eyes focused on him, drinking him in as he tilts his head back. His nostrils flare as if he's forcing himself to breathe in and out. He’s coming undone at my touch.
"Enough," he grunts, pushing my hand away. Locking his darkened eyes on me, he pushes me gently on my back then removes his shirt. I run my hand hungrily over his granite-like abs, tracing the lines angling toward his pelvis. "Remove your clothes," he orders. I push my jeans down my legs, doing my best to appear seductive. "All your clothes," Damon continues. I obediently get rid of my bra and panties. My nipples pucker, aching for his touch.
"You are beautiful, Dani." His eyes travel over my body desperately, as if he can't get enough of me. The feeling is mutual, and I beckon him to climb on the bed. I inch my legs apart invitingly. He props a knee between them then leans over me, grazing my nipple with his teeth. I arch my back, gasping, and reach for his shaft again. When I touch him, I feel a few drops of warm liquid on its tip. Warm wetness pools in my intimate spot immediately. On cue, Damon reaches into his discarded jeans for his wallet, retrieving a condom. He rips the package open and slides the condom on, biting furiously at his lips while doing it.
"It might be uncomfortable in the beginning," he warns me, "since you didn't ...you know."
I nod, bracing myself for the sharp pain I felt the first time. When Damon positions his tip at my entrance and pushes inside, I sigh. There is no pain, just a sense of discomfort as he slides in. He puts his hands on my sides and I happily rest my palms on his biceps, reassurance filling me. All the discomfort is gone. He slides out and in again with measured strokes, coaxing whimper after whimper out of me. His muscles contort violently under my fingers as if it takes effort not to ravish me.
"It doesn't hurt." My legs cinch up his waist to give him better access. "You can let loose, Damon."
"Not a good choice of words." His labored breathing leaves no room for misinterpretation. The next second, his strokes become merciless as he pounds inside me with ferocity, his lips covering my neck and breasts with kisses. A liberating sensation spreads inside me, dissolving the pain I kept hidden, leaving place for hope, bliss, and the conviction that together we will bloom into something beautiful. The heat between my legs becomes singeing as his groin presses on my clit with every move, making me writhe and moan underneath him.
"Dani, God, you feel so good." He makes love to me for a long time until tension erupts deep inside me, causing my hips to buck. I plant my legs firmly on the bed, meeting his desperate thrusts with fervor. The tension turns unbearable, flaring through me, alighting every part of me until my body begs for release.
"Damon," I murmur, tugging at his hair and pulling him into a kiss. I feel him widen inside of me, his body going rigid while my orgasm shatters me.
With one last deep kiss, he pulls out of me and sits on the edge of the bed, still panting. He discards the condom while I trace the tattoos on his arm, wondering if I should shower. My hair sticks to my sweaty neck, but I'm not sure what the after-sex protocol is. I fell asleep last time, and I want to do things right now.
"Should I shower?" I ask tentatively.
"You're not going anywhere." He fixes his green eyes on me then slides in the bed next to me. Nibbling my shoulder, he adds, "Turn around; I want to do some spooning."