Free Dance of the Crystal by Cris Anson Page A

a teenager with his first piece of ass.
    With great care, he eased jeans and briefs around what felt like a torpedo about to launch. When the clothing got tangled at his ankles, he briefly wondered if Crystal had shucked her shoes in anticipation of avoiding the kind of circus he was now experiencing as he clumsily toed off his own shoes and lurched out of his clothes.
    Then he looked at her. She stood with her hands half up and reaching toward him, as if wanting to touch him but afraid to, wearing nothing but her sparkling amulet and a tiny scrap of lace at her crotch.
    Somewhere along the line she’d stepped out of the tangle of her jeans. Her eyes were glued to his hard-on, but whether she was impressed or afraid, he couldn’t tell.
    Suddenly he felt awkward. He was hot as Hades, hard as a granite boulder, breathing like a blacksmith’s bellows, and he knew she wanted it as much as he did. Jesus, he wished he was as experienced as Rolf. Rolf would say something glib and sexy and the woman would melt right into him.
    But he, Soren, didn’t know—
    Holy shit. Crystal knelt down before him, her mouth right at the level of his cock that pointed straight at her, her face a study in awe and wonder.
    “It’s so…big,” she whispered.

    He groaned. No shit, Sherlock . Then ground his back teeth. She had reached out one finger and stroked the hard length of it, from the ridge down to the base and back again. Involuntarily his hips pivoted forward.
    “Tickles,” she said, running her knuckles lightly over the darker blond pubic hair surrounding his cock then following the rough trail of hair down one thigh.
    Soren didn’t know which tease was worse, her touching his cock or touching everything but his cock.
    “Crystal.” He reached down and jerked her up, slammed her into the furnace of his body so her feet dangled a foot from the floor. Skin against skin, chest to breasts, hips to hips. He kissed her, hard, his tongue thrusting deep into the hot cavern of her mouth, showing her what he wanted to do to her pussy.
    She met each thrust with a sucking motion of her mouth, driving him nearly mad. Her arms and legs came around him, her lace-clad pussy wide open to the pressure of his naked cock.
    Without breaking the kiss, he strode to the nearest kitchen counter and slid her sweet ass onto it, her legs still tightly wrapped around his hips. Mindless with need, he wrenched aside the sliver of lace covering her crotch and with the other hand guided his cock between her hot, swollen pussy lips.
    She whimpered, a soft needy sound in the back of her throat. She tilted her hips, wiggling them so as to encourage his entrance.
    On a prayerful curse, he plunged into her with all the pent-up force of years of reserve and denial and need and want. In a far corner of his mind he noted her slight resistance, her passionate cry at his first thrust, and accepted it as a sign of their mutual desire to finish what they started, this thunderous dance as old as time and as new as their touch. Over and over again he drove into her, her little gasps urging him on, until he felt on the edge of the precipice, ready to plunge into oblivion, and he remembered. With a last wisp of sanity, of knowing he couldn’t take the chance of impregnating her no matter how much he wanted to shoot deep inside her, he pulled out his cock and felt himself gush his cum all over her belly.
    And only after his pounding heart had slowed, after his breathing normalized, after he felt her rigidity, did he realize what his subconscious had processed in the heat of the moment.
    He had taken a virgin.

Chapter Five
    “Jesus, Crystal, I feel like a heel.”
    Relaxing his death grip on her hips, he took a small step back, to examine her turned-aside face, her downcast eyes. “Are you all right? I didn’t know you were…” His throat closed. How could he have not known she was a virgin? All those artless kisses, the fumbling touches, the awe in her face at the sight of