Of course, he’s been with other women! He’s twenty-two years older than you! You can’t punish him for that. There’s my inner voice and this time, I have to say, I agree with her.
I give him a faint smile and he slides me a tray, lifting a sterling silver lid from the plate, casting it aside. On the plate there are strawberries, grapes, cantaloupe, watermelon, and pineapple, sliced and arranged in a beautiful flower pattern. Marie is really good at this, I think to myself, my eyes widening at the sight. I always love fresh fruit. The closest I come to it in my real life is an old banana. I reach out then stop myself, aware that I am in Owen’s presence and need to exercise manners. I look to him and he is watching me, the same cool look of ambivalence on his face. Damn he’s hard to read.
“May I?” my voice is small, I’m hungry and the fruit looks delicious but I don’t want to annoy him. Am I?
“Please,” he says quickly, lifting a pitcher from the tray and pouring as glasses of water.
I grab a strawberry and bite it, the juice slips through my lips and dribbles down my chin and Owen, still watching me, throws me a curve ball. He leans forward, holding my gaze intensely, and nips at my chin, licking the juice clean off me. I moan as he pulls away from me, I close my eyes. When I slowly reopen them and Owen is right in front of me, waiting for me to look at him. When I do, he meets my lips with his, kissing me deeply, his tongue stealing some of the strawberry from my mouth as he does. He pulls back, chewing the berry, smiling at me. Oh, his smile. My nipples grow hard for him when he looks at me that way.
I grab another piece of fruit and take a bite and realize that we are sitting there, naked, a foot away from each other, everything on full display. I cannot believe Owen just went down on me. That I pleased him in the shower. That I’m in his bed. My heart begins to go wild; my cheeks grow flush; all of this is so… much. It’s what I wanted, but it’s so powerful that I can hardly handle it. Reading my sudden change in body language, he scoots towards me, the trays rattling on the bed, and he is at my side, wrapping his powerful arm around my shoulders. I lean my face into the crook of his neck and plant a small kiss on him before closing my eyes.
“Owen?” I am anticipating a conversation of a certain kind and though it’s only Friday and we still have another day and a half without the complications of Kyra, I’m not that type of girl.
I want to know.
I need to know. Is this man mine or am I just a temporary play thing? He did say he would never change his mind. But perhaps that was just about this one night? My lack of experience comes barreling in, hitting me like a freight train, full of confusion and doubt.
“Hmm,” he responds, his lips pressed to the top of my head. Everything he does is… gentle but erotic. It’s so different than I thought. It feels so good, so natural.
“Thank you for giving me this, whatever this weekend is, thank you.”
I don’t want to be a pushy girl, twisting his arm into a deep confession or pressing a gun to his temple to force him to say things he doesn’t mean. No, that’s not me and though this is my first time being with a man, I know that I am not that girl.
He scoops me into his lap, so easily and so quickly, with such little effort, that his masculinity turns me on. He scoots back on the bed so his back is flush with the headboard, and I am straddling his lap, my knees on either side of his hips.
Yes, I’ve had him in my mouth.
Yes, I’ve covered his face and fingers in my need.
But this position, lights on enough for us to make eye contact, to see and feel the shape of one another, to be face to face after such intimacy… this is more.
He holds my face in his hands, something he’s done a few times already and it is something that I love; I feel safe and taken care of, cherished and small.
“I’ve been biding my time, waiting, resisting,” his voice is husky, wrought with hunger and passion. “Making sure I was right.” He kisses me. I can taste my strawberry on his lips and tongue. I can taste myself in his mouth and it makes me tingle.
“Right?” I question quietly into his mouth, between kisses that are growing more desperate. I can feel his sex rise up against me, and I gently push my hips forward, into it, the friction warming my cheeks and making my lips tingle.
“To make sure that you wanted me?”
He snorts, a laugh without humor, and kisses my cheek, my jaw, under my chin, my neck. I moan through closed lips.
“That was never a question,” he cups my breast and brings it to his lips, leaning down, kissing my nipple and tugging at it with his teeth, softly.
It elicits a response in my belly, feeding my urges and I cry out, “oh Owen!”
“I knew from the moment I saw you. I felt it, before I even knew you, I felt it,” he places his hand on my bare chest, over my heart, “here,” he whispers. His strong hand on me, touching my heart, which races for him, I whimper, my body aching for him.
“But I had to be sure you felt it, too,” he continues, kissing my nipple again, working his way back up to my face.
I don’t know how to eloquently put into words all of the emotions that I am feeling. I don’t know what to say in this situation and my inexperience pierces me deeply, and I pull back from him slightly. I have to tell him how I feel, even if it’s a jumbled mess.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never made love. You’re the first person I’ve been bare in front of. But I’ve wanted you, I’ve wanted you for so long. The first time I heard your voice,” I return to him, my confession overwhelming me, the flushness settling into my face. I take his mouth so he cannot see my embarrassment. But no, he doesn’t let me hide. He wants to see me, all of me. He grips my face once again and I struggle to tilt my head down, to hide away.
“How desperate am I? To have pined for someone just because of their voice? But I heard it and I felt something I’ve never felt. And when I saw you, when I breathed you in, when you became real, I just…” he kisses me, dragging a thumb across my cheek to wipe away a single tear that has made its way past.
“You’re not desperate,” he growls into my mouth.
We are unable to leave each other’s mouths for more than a few seconds, our hunger for one another is mutual, completely shared. He rolls me over and is immediately on top of me, my head surrounded by plush pillows, the comforter bunching up around me as he lowers his body over mine, kissing me deeply.
“Your bed is the most luxurious bed,” I say, outstretching my legs briefly before I let them fall open, and raise my knees up, making room for his substantial body between my thighs. He lowers himself down onto my me, his erection pressing against my belly. I lift my hips from the bed and try to find his sex, try to push against it to find my own relief, but he pushes me down by my hip and presses the head of his member to my lips, wet with desire, and slowly pushes inside of me.
“Ours,” he groans into my neck, his length slowly filling me.
His hips move cautiously as to not hurt me but I find myself needing him to impale me, fill me up, fast and hard. I am so eager for him. I want to be fucked by him. But as he kisses my neck, his tongue drifting across my collarbone, I know that he will not do that. No, he will not fuck me on my first time. He is different. He is going to make love to me. The realization sets me on fire, and I buck underneath him, digging my heels into his ample rear. And moments after he’s spoken, my mind processes the word. Ours.
“Ours?” I pant questioningly, still trying to pull him deeper inside me. I need him so bad.
He pulls his head from the crook in my neck and pushes his forehead against mine. He is a man of few words, it seems, but the ones he uses are powerful.
“My bed isn’t the most luxurious bed… our bed is the most luxurious bed.”
Ours. As in we. We are a thing.
I cry out, wrapping my arms around his neck, my sobs flow freely into his chest.
“I will take care of you, forever. Everything I have is yours, baby,” his voice is quiet, his lips pressed tight to my ear as he speaks.
Baby. It melts me when he calls me baby, it’s so unexpected for him but it sounds so perfect on his tongue. His thick voice purring into my ear, his powerful manhood fully inside me now.
“Do you feel pain?” he pulls his face from my ear and looks into my eyes, his forehead against mine again.
I shake my head no. “Only the most exquisite pleasure,” I whisper, and he takes my mouth with his, his hips moving in and out of me quicker now.
I run my hands through his hair, trace out the lines of his muscles down his back, hold his face in my hands; I cannot keep my hands off of him. The more I touch him, the more the pressure in my belly grows. He kisses the corner of my mouth and moans; his moan is from the pleasure I am giving him, and the thought is powerfully erotic. Soon, his thick chest is heaving against mine, his lips on my neck, on my breast, it’s all consuming. I close my eyes tightly and my brain goes dark, a jolt of color flies behind my eyelids and my ears pound, my heart moving so fast that I choke, gasp for air as I near my release.
“I can’t,” I whimper, “I can’t hold it, I can’t…” I feel my legs tremble around his tight waist, and I feel him push inside me quicker. I am so close. I am ready to explode. He pushes his lips to my ears again, whispering faintly “let go.”
And with that, I am over the edge, my wetness gripping his sex so tight that he too finds release, spilling into me. I tighten and he releases and we continue this until we are both empty, both spent. His juices fill me entirely, running down my thighs and dripping onto the beautiful, lush white comforter.
He rolls off of me and takes my hand again, dusting my knuckles with a soft kiss before pulling it to his chest, over his heart.
“Owen,” I rasp, my voice hoarse from the moaning. I wouldn’t have it any other way. “What happens now?”
He sighs, then makes a thoughtful and pensive noise. My heart leaps to my throat. He has said his bed is ours, but I am new, novice, unskilled, unexperienced, abandoned by any adult who has been known to love me. I am afraid he will change his mind. But I don’t want to be insecure. I am so conflicted.
“Wait. Don’t answer,” I say, needing to be honest, feeling in my gut that speaking my truth is the only way. And I know he wants me to; he doesn’t want me to hide away from him.
“I’m scared you will change your mind. I am frightened I’ll wake up one morning to discover it’s all been… taken away. Even though it’s not mine, I’m scared I will lose it. This. You.”
He lifts his body, dewy with remnants of our love-making session, and rests on an elbow, still holding my hand tightly to his chest.
“It has all been senseless routine until you.”
He kisses my knuckles again and tears fill my eyes, which are fluttering to blink them away. I do not want to lose sight of his handsome face in this dim light, this moment needs to be etched in my brain and my heart forever.
“I have been thinking about the details of it since the day in the lift. That was the day where I could no longer deny it. And though I’ve not yet worked out all the details, I know that you have been brought here to be mine,” he strokes my hair and tucks it behind my ear.
It is a gentle, tender side he is showing me. My body tingles. Mmm. His. He said I am his.
“I don’t want you worrying that I’m going to change my mind. I don’t want you to worry about anything.”
I reach up and let my fingertips follow the curves of his lips, raw and swollen.
I love him, and the love I feel is so present all the time when I’m around him; trapped between my thighs, caught in my throat, lingering on my lips, resounding in my heart. This has to be love. I squeeze my eyes shut, tightly, trying to imagine if I had to leave this bed forever. I shudder at the thought. Some women need to try on men, figure out who they are while sharing themselves with others but I know in this moment, with my hand clasps tightly to Owen’s chest, that this is the only man I need or want.