Stripped by Jasinda Wilder
Page 54
And then I try something else. I want to feel everything. I lift with my core and hips so he slips partway out, and then sink down just a little, and draw out a little, shallow thrusts so he’s never fully in or fully out. This kind of stroke makes me crazy. Each time I whimper and moan and refuse to let myself sink him deep, and he begins to groan with me. I’m not seeking orgasm, I’m just finding him, finding me, finding us. I’m exploring this thing, this act called sex.
It’s so far beyond amazing that I can’t comprehend it. I press my open, quivering mouth to his sweating chest and continue shallow strokes for a few moments, and then I feel Dawson tense beneath me. His pectorals go hard as rock, his arms coil into stone, and his face freezes, his jaw clenched.
“Dawson? What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m—holding back. ”
I realize he’s at that edge, about to orgasm. “Let go, then. ”
“No. I want to come with you. ” He leans up and kisses me, intending it to be a quick kiss before falling back, but I follow him down and devour his mouth with mine.
“Then come with me,” I say.
He groans as I slide him all the way in, and I love, almost more than anything else, hearing him make involuntary noises. I draw him out, and then impale him into me quickly. Our groans merge as our bodies join. I start a rhythm of deep strokes, holding on to his neck, moving only my hips. He lifts me up and takes a nipple into my mouth, and I whimper louder than ever, and I feel the crest of orgasm approaching. He’s rock hard all over, every muscle tensed, and then as my motions become more erratic and my wordless moans of pleasure become his name groaned over and over again, he starts to move with me, and I have no control at all, no rhythm. I’m just desperately plunging onto him, filling myself with him.
“Oh, oh, god,” I say as I feel him lose control as well.
“Swear,” he grunts. He sees the momentary confusion on my face, and he elaborates. “Let go, baby. I want to hear you swear. Come for me, Grey. Come hard, and don’t hold back. ”
I am holding back. I snake my arms around his neck and lie flat, all my weight on him, and grind my hips against his and let myself go. Screams are muffled by his flesh, and now I erupt, and his name is the only sound on my lips, chanted over and over again as heaven thunders open within me. I’m crashing, hips madly plunging and hands clawing into his skin.
“Dawson,” I gasp, and then I remember what he said, and I crack the last shell of control, and all I can do is cling to him as the words tumble free. “Oh, f**k, Dawson! God, oh, god, oh, f**k…come with me, come now…”
The world ends in that moment. Lights flash and my entire existence shifts, and then I’m moving. He’s above me, thank god, and he’s wild, uncontrolled, plunging into me, and I love every touch, every slap, every slam, and I hear him groaning, and I expect to hear him swear like I did, but he surprises me.
“Grey. ” It’s a whisper, a crazy contrast to his wild thrusting. “Oh, Grey, sweet Grey…my Grey…” And he comes at last. I feel it happen, a tensing followed by heat and he’s gone, wordless, just his breath on my skin and our bodies as close as can be, and I feel his soul next to mine, in mine, around mine, woven together.
We both still and go quiet, breathing, and his weight is on me. He goes to move, but I stop him. “Stay. I like your weight on me. I like feeling this. ”
“Grey?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you. ” His voice is as soft as silk, a verbal caress. Nothing can ever be as sweet as his voice in that moment.
I move slightly, and he moves with me, and now his face is cradled on my chest, between my br**sts, my hands in his hair and tracing the shell of his ear and the small place where his jaw meets his ear. “I love you, too. ” I breathe it, and he smiles against my skin.
We fall asleep like that, in that time where afternoon bleeds into evening.
* * *
I wake to his mouth on my breast and his fingers at the apex of my thighs, and before my eyes are open I’m spreading my legs for his touch and breathing sharply in happiness and ecstasy, and I’ve come again within minutes.
But I want something, I want to feel something. I got a taste of it when we made love, but I want it more fully. I push him to his back and take him in my hands and caress the length and thickness of him. I move my face across his chest and belly, press a kiss to the tip.
“Grey?” It’s a hesitant question.
“I want this. I want to try it. ”
He brushes my hair away in that familiar gesture, and I take him into my mouth. Just a little at first. He moans immediately, and I know he likes this. That moan is what I want. A part of it, at least. I move my fist around him and set his hips to moving with my rhythm, and he groans, so I accompany that rhythm with my mouth on him.
And then I remember a customer at the club asking me to suck him off, and I think about that phrasing. So I suck, taking him deeper and sucking as hard as I can, and he lifts his hips off the bed and groans loudly, his hands tangling in my hair as if struggling not to pull me against him, and his hips flutter as if trying not to thrust.
I take him out of my mouth, and he groans in desperation. “Let go,” I tell him.
He lifts up and glances at me, and I bend closer to him, brush him with my br**sts, and he flops back but then lifts his head to watch again as I wrap my lips around him and suck him deeper into my mouth, close to my throat. And now I suckle him to the rhythm of my fist on his length, and his hips match that rhythm, unfettered thrusting. I match his motion so he doesn’t gag me, and I suck harder, backing away and taking him deep with each thrust and each suck, and now he’s groaning nonstop.
“Grey, Grey, oh, god…” His fingers tighten in my hair, and he’s pulling me down gently.
I don’t mind, and I follow his urging, going deeper. I don’t go so deep as to feel gagged, but nearly, and now he’s arching his back and lifting his hips, but I don’t hurry, don’t rush.
“Oh, f**k, Grey…I’m coming…” It’s a warning, but I don’t have time to think about what I’m going to do, because he’s erupting in my mouth.
I taste it, thick and hot and salty and nothing like I expected. I swallow it and keep going, because he’s still groaning and thrusting, so I match his frenetic pace with my fist and my mouth, and he spurts again, and again, and I’m swamped. His groaning is uncontrolled and spasmodic, and his eyes are fluttering in his head and he’s mad with pleasure, and that is what I wanted, to give him such pleasure that he lost control like he made me do.
And then I try something else. I want to feel everything. I lift with my core and hips so he slips partway out, and then sink down just a little, and draw out a little, shallow thrusts so he’s never fully in or fully out. This kind of stroke makes me crazy. Each time I whimper and moan and refuse to let myself sink him deep, and he begins to groan with me. I’m not seeking orgasm, I’m just finding him, finding me, finding us. I’m exploring this thing, this act called sex.
It’s so far beyond amazing that I can’t comprehend it. I press my open, quivering mouth to his sweating chest and continue shallow strokes for a few moments, and then I feel Dawson tense beneath me. His pectorals go hard as rock, his arms coil into stone, and his face freezes, his jaw clenched.
“Dawson? What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m—holding back. ”
I realize he’s at that edge, about to orgasm. “Let go, then. ”
“No. I want to come with you. ” He leans up and kisses me, intending it to be a quick kiss before falling back, but I follow him down and devour his mouth with mine.
“Then come with me,” I say.
He groans as I slide him all the way in, and I love, almost more than anything else, hearing him make involuntary noises. I draw him out, and then impale him into me quickly. Our groans merge as our bodies join. I start a rhythm of deep strokes, holding on to his neck, moving only my hips. He lifts me up and takes a nipple into my mouth, and I whimper louder than ever, and I feel the crest of orgasm approaching. He’s rock hard all over, every muscle tensed, and then as my motions become more erratic and my wordless moans of pleasure become his name groaned over and over again, he starts to move with me, and I have no control at all, no rhythm. I’m just desperately plunging onto him, filling myself with him.
“Oh, oh, god,” I say as I feel him lose control as well.
“Swear,” he grunts. He sees the momentary confusion on my face, and he elaborates. “Let go, baby. I want to hear you swear. Come for me, Grey. Come hard, and don’t hold back. ”
I am holding back. I snake my arms around his neck and lie flat, all my weight on him, and grind my hips against his and let myself go. Screams are muffled by his flesh, and now I erupt, and his name is the only sound on my lips, chanted over and over again as heaven thunders open within me. I’m crashing, hips madly plunging and hands clawing into his skin.
“Dawson,” I gasp, and then I remember what he said, and I crack the last shell of control, and all I can do is cling to him as the words tumble free. “Oh, f**k, Dawson! God, oh, god, oh, f**k…come with me, come now…”
The world ends in that moment. Lights flash and my entire existence shifts, and then I’m moving. He’s above me, thank god, and he’s wild, uncontrolled, plunging into me, and I love every touch, every slap, every slam, and I hear him groaning, and I expect to hear him swear like I did, but he surprises me.
“Grey. ” It’s a whisper, a crazy contrast to his wild thrusting. “Oh, Grey, sweet Grey…my Grey…” And he comes at last. I feel it happen, a tensing followed by heat and he’s gone, wordless, just his breath on my skin and our bodies as close as can be, and I feel his soul next to mine, in mine, around mine, woven together.
We both still and go quiet, breathing, and his weight is on me. He goes to move, but I stop him. “Stay. I like your weight on me. I like feeling this. ”
“Grey?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you. ” His voice is as soft as silk, a verbal caress. Nothing can ever be as sweet as his voice in that moment.
I move slightly, and he moves with me, and now his face is cradled on my chest, between my br**sts, my hands in his hair and tracing the shell of his ear and the small place where his jaw meets his ear. “I love you, too. ” I breathe it, and he smiles against my skin.
We fall asleep like that, in that time where afternoon bleeds into evening.
* * *
I wake to his mouth on my breast and his fingers at the apex of my thighs, and before my eyes are open I’m spreading my legs for his touch and breathing sharply in happiness and ecstasy, and I’ve come again within minutes.
But I want something, I want to feel something. I got a taste of it when we made love, but I want it more fully. I push him to his back and take him in my hands and caress the length and thickness of him. I move my face across his chest and belly, press a kiss to the tip.
“Grey?” It’s a hesitant question.
“I want this. I want to try it. ”
He brushes my hair away in that familiar gesture, and I take him into my mouth. Just a little at first. He moans immediately, and I know he likes this. That moan is what I want. A part of it, at least. I move my fist around him and set his hips to moving with my rhythm, and he groans, so I accompany that rhythm with my mouth on him.
And then I remember a customer at the club asking me to suck him off, and I think about that phrasing. So I suck, taking him deeper and sucking as hard as I can, and he lifts his hips off the bed and groans loudly, his hands tangling in my hair as if struggling not to pull me against him, and his hips flutter as if trying not to thrust.
I take him out of my mouth, and he groans in desperation. “Let go,” I tell him.
He lifts up and glances at me, and I bend closer to him, brush him with my br**sts, and he flops back but then lifts his head to watch again as I wrap my lips around him and suck him deeper into my mouth, close to my throat. And now I suckle him to the rhythm of my fist on his length, and his hips match that rhythm, unfettered thrusting. I match his motion so he doesn’t gag me, and I suck harder, backing away and taking him deep with each thrust and each suck, and now he’s groaning nonstop.
“Grey, Grey, oh, god…” His fingers tighten in my hair, and he’s pulling me down gently.
I don’t mind, and I follow his urging, going deeper. I don’t go so deep as to feel gagged, but nearly, and now he’s arching his back and lifting his hips, but I don’t hurry, don’t rush.
“Oh, f**k, Grey…I’m coming…” It’s a warning, but I don’t have time to think about what I’m going to do, because he’s erupting in my mouth.
I taste it, thick and hot and salty and nothing like I expected. I swallow it and keep going, because he’s still groaning and thrusting, so I match his frenetic pace with my fist and my mouth, and he spurts again, and again, and I’m swamped. His groaning is uncontrolled and spasmodic, and his eyes are fluttering in his head and he’s mad with pleasure, and that is what I wanted, to give him such pleasure that he lost control like he made me do.