STUFFED (The Slate Brothers 2)

And then I smile a little to let him know it’s intentional—and that I like him seeing my nipples like this.

“Careful,” Carson growls at me. “Don’t think I won’t take you back to my place right now.”

I like it when he talks to me like this. The truth is, though, that we’ve never even come close to going back to his place. We’ve gone on dinner or coffee dates. Carson has massaged my pussy through my panties, rubbed his thumb across my nipples, and had me sit in his lap while is erection threatened to break through both his pants and my skirt. Still, we’ve never seriously talked about going back to his place— which means we definitely haven’t discussed the fact that I’m a virgin.

“Empty threat,” I tease him. “We never go back to your place.”

“Empty? No. I just assume you have somewhere to go this evening, and I don’t think I could be done with you that quickly,” Carson says and takes a long drink of his coffee.

I lick my lips and squirm in my seat— I’m already wet, practically since the moment I walked in and saw him here, but when he says things like that it sends a whole new wave of arousal through me.

I bite my lip and try to sound like I’m teasing back when I say, “I don’t have anywhere to go this evening.”

Carson lifts his eyebrows. “Well. I have practice in an hour,” he says.

“Right,” I say, turning red. I shouldn’t have said that— I shouldn’t assume he actually wants to have sex with me just because we’re doing whatever it is we’re doing. I mean, just because I want him in me doesn’t mean he’s required to want anything more than what we’re doing, no matter how dirty he talks.

And ugh, I do want him in me, in a way I’ve never wanted a guy before. It’s not curiosity about what sex feels like. It’s Carson— I want him. I want him to take me, to guide me, to take control and—

“I’m free after practice,” he says, words clipped and serious. “You should come by my place then.”

I blink. “Really?”

Carson nods, his eyes hooded. “Really,” he says, then leans forward, adjusting his chair in the process so that no one can see when he rolls his hand over my left breast, squeezing my nipple lightly between his thumb and forefinger. I stifle a moan as he leans into my ear and whispers, “I need to fuck you, Astrid. I’ve needed to since I first say you, I’ve just tried to ignore it. I can’t anymore. Do you need my cock in you, sweetheart?”

“Carson,” I whimper as he nips at my earlobe. “Yes. I need it. But—“

He releases my earlobe and sits back a bit, a look of concern on his face. He doesn’t release my breast, but he relaxes his fingers working my nipple. “You don’t have to, of course,” he says, and he means it.

“That’s not it.” I say hurriedly. “I want to— I really, really want to. But I feel like…I feel like I should tell you something.”

“Oh,” he says, looking concerned. I can’t blame him; that was an awfully open ended “but”.

“I’m a virgin,” I say, unable to keep my eyes on his as I say it. I bite my lip; Carson’s hand falls away from my nipple, and he goes still.

“A virgin?” he asks.

I nod at the floor.

“But you’ve…you’ve done some things, right?” he asks.

My eyes feel hot— I might actually cry. I guess Jess was right— guys freak out when you tell them you’re a virgin. Why did I say anything? I should have just risked it; he’s been incredibly attuned to what I like this far, why would I think he’d be different in bed? It’d have been fine. But now I’ve gone and—

“Astrid? What have you done before?” Carson presses me.

“With anyone other than you?” I ask meekly, and I see him nod in my peripheral vision. “Nothing. Well, kissing. Sometimes sort of intense kissing, I guess, but that’s it.”

Carson inhales, sharp and surprised. “So I’m the first one to touch you like I’ve been doing?” he asks.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. My roommates just got me worried that it’d be too rough and I’d get hurt and Arianna said I should tell you and I wish I hadn’t—“

I’m quieted by Carson’s mouth on mine, firm but gentle, his tongue easing against mine, his free hand sliding around my back and pulling me a little tighter to him.

“Eight o’clock. I’ll text you my address,” he murmurs against my cheek.

9

I count down the hours, the minutes, practically the seconds till eight o’clock. I shave my pussy, because that seems like the sort of thing to do. I reapply all my makeup. I put on my one and only set of matching underwear, which isn’t actually matching at all, but the bra and panties are practically the same shade of pink so it’ll work.