The F-Word

I reach the place where the black silk panties kiss her skin. I ease the panties down her hips. Her thighs. Her legs.

Then, only then, I give myself permission to look at her again.

There has to be a better word than beautiful to describe her.

She is everything a woman can be. Her face. Her breasts. The feminine curve of her hips. The soft, dark curls between her thighs. How can I not kiss my way down to those curls?

I press my mouth to her belly. I go lower. Lower. Her breath hisses through her teeth. When I am almost where I need to be, she shakes her head and puts her palms flat against my chest.

“Wait,” she says, “Matthew, wait—”

I can’t wait. If I do, I’ll die.

I clasp her hands, bring her arms above her head and kiss my way to those delicate curls. I nuzzle her. Breathe against her. I urge her to open to me and, at last, she does. I press my mouth to the petals of the pink flower her parted thighs reveal. I lick, kiss, tongue her sweet clit…

She cries out into the silent room and comes apart.

Her response shatters the last of my control. I tear off my boxers, slide my hands under her ass, lift her to me and enter her.

I shudder with the pleasure of it.

She is hot and slick. And tight. So tight.

Then she gasps. Not with pleasure. I have found a barrier…

The crazy idea that she’s a virgin isn’t crazy after all. My Bailey is a virgin. Pills or no pills, she’s never been with a man before.

I go completely still.

My head spins. A virgin? I’ve never been with a virgin before, but I know enough to realize getting past that barrier of tender flesh will be painful. I’m going to hurt her when what I want is to pleasure her. I have to stop. Withdraw…

“Please,” she sobs. “Please, please, pl

ease. Matthew. Don’t stop. Don’t…”

She lifts herself to me. Impales herself on me.

The world tilts.

Somehow, I manage to hold still. I can feel her body accepting mine, adapting to the intrusion. Sweat beads my forehead. I am shaking. I wait. I wait.

Bailey moves her hips.

She moves again.

Slowly, I slip forward. Very slowly. Slowly enough to kill me. One sweet inch at a time. She moans. I go very still.

“Am I hurting you, sweetheart?” I whisper.

Her eyes meet mine. Her hand cups my face. I turn my lips to the center of her palm.

“Matthew,” she sighs as she lifts herself to me.

I shift my weight. I am taking her just as she is taking me. She is gasping. So am I.

And then finally, finally, I am there. I am inside her. Deep inside her. Her heat, her softness. All mine.

All mine.