Free Curve Ball by Charlotte Stein Page B

to hear!
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘Please, baby,’ he says, but oh, that’s not the best part. The best part is when he turns his head on the word baby, and bites at the ankle that’s far too close to his mouth. He bites at it, and then he works his way further down and licks .
    The inside of my knee goes absolutely insane.
    ‘Just let me touch you …,’ he says, and as he does he runs a hand across my hip, and down over my leg. ‘Let me kiss you …’ For that one he presses his mouth to the inside of my thigh, though I confess I have no idea how he got there. Aren’t I supposed to be holding him at bay? I think I am, but I’ve completely forgotten why.
    ‘Let me make love to you …’
    It’s hard to remember, when he says things like that. I mean, I know he probably says it to all the girls. He’s likely got business cards, with make and love written all over them. But for right now, I can easily pretend that he means it. The kiss I eventually let him have says he means it. And the way he holds me in his arms … That says it too.
    He holds me so tight I can feel his heart, thudding through his chest and into mine – like in the water. His hands seem to span every part of my body, all at once … But that’s not the best part. The best part is that he does these things right the way through this long, slow slide into my body, and well into the sex, which isn’t like any other kind of sex I’ve had before.
    It’s so easy, for a start. So soft and syrupy and easy. I’m used to fighting for every bit of pleasure and comfort I can find, but the only thing he makes me fight are the various parts of his body that pin me in place. I strain against the heavy weight of his chest, and the push of his amazing thighs.
    And when it’s so good I can’t quite take it, he makes me take it with arms like iron bars. ‘No, no,’ he says. ‘Stay with me, stay with me.’
    He can’t possibly know that staying with him is all I want to do. I might squirm and gasp and be unable to believe that something can feel this good, but the sane part of me knows I don’t really want to escape.
    I’ll never have it better than this. He doesn’t plough into me. He rocks , in this insistent, deliberate sort of way. Like he knows just where all of my sensitive parts are. He knows how to fuck harder when I don’t want him to and grind to a halt just when I’m desperate for him to give me more, until I’m such a fucking mess I’m incoherent.
    ‘That good, huh?’ he asks me, and I answer by waving my hands.
    I just hope he understands me.
    ‘Or maybe you need a little more of this …’
    I don’t think he understands me. I definitely don’t need a little more of his thumb, on my clit. It’s bad enough that he’s fucking me with his enormous cock, while looking the way he does – practically gleaming with perspiration and absolutely covered in taut, flexing muscles – but to touch me there, to touch that little swollen too sensitive thing …
    ‘No not that,’ I tell him, but of course he does it anyway. He kneels over me like some golden, glowing god, face a picture of heat and excitement, cock still thick and swollen inside me … And then he just eases his thumb over my stiff clit.
    Just a little. Just enough to make me cry.
    ‘Oh yeah. That’s it, baby. Give it up.’
    He’s such a bastard, honestly.
    ‘You gonna come on my cock, huh? Yeah, do it. Do it. I want to feel it.’
    So do I, in truth. I don’t think I’ve ever come on anyone’s cock, before. I’ve come on other things, of course, like my own fingers, or a vibrator, or the contents of the salad drawer in my fridge … But never a cock.
    It’s a brand new experience for me – one in which I feel compelled to say his name, over and over again, and maybe struggle to get away for the second time. Luckily for me, however, he keeps right on holding me in place. He’s got one hand on my hip, and that’s pretty much all it takes to glue me to