Lick (Stage Dive 1)

No wonder people took sex so seriously, or not seriously enough at all. Sex addled your wits and stole your body. It was like being lost and found all at once. Frankly, it was a little frightening.

“We will be fine,” he said, teasing my earlobe with his teeth. Rubbing his hardness against me. God bless whoever had thought to put a seam right there in jeans. Lights danced before my eyes. Did it feel as good for him? I wanted it to be the best and I wanted him to be right about us being fine.

“Sweet baby, just need time,” he said, his warm breath skating over my skin.

“Because of her,” I said, needing it to be out there in the open. No secrets.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice faint. “Because of her.”

The truth bit.

“Evelyn, there’s just you and me in this. I swear.” He returned to my mouth and kissed me as if I was delicate, giving me only the briefest taste of him. An awareness of warmth, the firmness of his lips.

“Wait,” I said, making my legs give up their grip on him.

He blinked dark, hazy eyes at me.

“Move back. I want to hop down.”

“You do?” His lovely mouth turned down at the edges. The front of his jeans were in a state of obvious distress. I’d done that to him. A victory lap around the kitchen counter would probably be taking it too far, but still, it felt good. That knowledge sat well within me. She didn’t do that to him these days. I did.

I shuffled off the edge of the counter and he grabbed my hips, easing my descent to the floor. Just as well. My legs were liquid. He stared down at me, his brow wrinkled.

“There’s something I want to do,” I explained, fingers shaking from nerves and excitement. First I wrangled with the button of his jeans before moving onto the straining zipper.

His hands gripped my wrists. “Hey. Wait.”

I hesitated, waiting to hear what he had to say. Surely he wouldn’t try to tell me he didn’t want this. Every guy wanted this, or so I’d been told. He looked perplexed, as if I was a piece that refused to fit the puzzle. I honestly didn’t know if he meant to stop me or hurry me onward.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, when he didn’t speak.

Slowly he removed his hands from my wrists, setting me free. He held them up like I’d pointed a gun at him. “This is what you want?”

“Yes. David, why is this a big deal? Don’t you want my mouth on you?”

A soft smile curved his lips. “You have no idea how much I want that. But this is another first for you, isn’t it?”

I nodded, fingers fiddling with the waistband of his jeans, but going no further.

“That’s why it’s a big deal. I want all your firsts to be perfect. Even this. And I’m pretty f**king worked up here just at the thought of you sucking me.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been thinking about you all damn day. I kept f**king things up, couldn’t concentrate for shit. Amazing we got anything done.” He pushed his fingers through his long hair, pulling it back from his face. His hands stayed on top of his head, stretching out his lean, muscular torso. The bruise on his ribs from the bar fight last night was a dark gray smudge, marring perfection. I leaned in, kissing it. His gaze never left me because my bare br**sts were still most definitely a part of me. My eyes, my mouth, my br**sts: he couldn’t seem to decide what fascinated him the most.

Carefully, I lowered the zipper over his erection. No underwear. At least I didn’t jump this time when his hard-on made its sudden appearance. With two hands I pushed down his jeans, freeing his cock. It stood tall and proud. Just like this morning I pressed my hand against the underside, feeling the heat of the silken skin. Funny, the idea of the male appendage had never particularly moved me before. But now I felt moved, as my clenched thighs attested.

Moved and more than a little proprietary.

“You’re mine,” I whispered, my thumb rubbing around the edge of the head, feeling out the ridge and the dip in the middle. Learning him.

“Yeah.”

The sweet spot sat below that little tuck. Over the years, I’d read enough magazines and listened to enough of Lauren’s tales of sexcapades to know as much. She did love her details. I made a mental note to thank her, take her out to dinner somewhere nice.

I moved my hand around so that I gripped him and massaged the area with the pad of my thumb, waiting to see what happened. Much easier to see what was going on without the soap bubbles in the way. It didn’t take long. Especially not once I tightened my hold on him a little and pumped slightly. His stomach muscles flinched and danced, the same as they had this morning in the shower. My fingers moved the soft, smooth skin, massaging the hard flesh beneath, pumping once, twice. A bead of milky fluid leaked from the small slit in the top.

“That means you’re f**king killing me,” my husband supplied helpfully, his voice guttural. “Just in case you were wondering.”

I grinned.

He swore.

“I swear it gets bigger every time I see it.”

His smile was lopsided. “You inspire me.”

I stroked him again and his chest heaved. “Evelyn. Please.”

Time to put him out of his misery. I knelt, the floor uncomfortably hard beneath me. If you were going to kneel in front of someone, some minor discomfort seemed an obvious part of the territory. It all added to the atmosphere, the experience. The musky scent of him was stronger later in the day. I took his c**k in hand and nuzzled his hip bone, breathing him in deep.

He still watched. I checked to be sure. Hell, his eyes were huge and dark and focused solely on me. Beside him, his hands gripped the counter as if he expected a tremor to hit at any time, knuckles white.

When I took him into my mouth he moaned. My inexperience and his size prevented me from taking him too deep. He didn’t seem to mind. The salty taste of his skin and the bitterness of that liquid, the warm scent of him and the feel of his hardness, merged into one unique experience. Pleasing David was a brilliant thing.

He groaned and his h*ps jerked, pushing him further into my mouth. My throat tightened in surprise and I gagged slightly. His hand flew to my hair, patting, soothing. “Fuck, baby. Sorry.”

I resumed my ministrations, rubbing my tongue against him, drawing on him. Figuring out the best way to fit him into my mouth. Doing everything I could to make him tremble and cuss. What a glorious thing giving head was. His hand tightened in my hair, pulling some, and I loved it. All of it. Anything with the ability to reduce my world-weary husband to a stammering mess while giving him such pleasure deserved a serious time investment. His h*ps shifted restlessly and his c**k jerked against my tongue, filling my mouth with that salty, bitter taste faster than I could swallow.