Page 13 of The Couch Where It Happens
“It’s a deal.” I stroked his hair, enjoying the hell out of the velvet feel at the back of his neck and the way the pressure from my hands translated through his skull to my own body. Then I pulled on the longer hair on top, not hard, but enough to get him to raise his head.
He frowned, confused. “What?”
“Wait. Right here.” Part of me wanted to give up on precautions because I was on the pill, but I knew we had to be safe, and I had protection in the other room. “I’m getting a condom.”
I stumbled to my bedroom and yanked open the drawer in my bedside table to grab one of the packets from student health services. When I came back to the living room, I stopped to stare at how utterly spectacular he looked sprawled on my couch. He was waiting, like I’d ordered, his arms stretched along the couch. His eyes were closed, and his head was thrown back on thesupporting cushions. The outside light cast squares on his body, illuminating as high as his chin and parted lips, but left the rest of his face in shadow. Those muscles weren’t soft, but I knew his lips were cushiony.
As soon as I moved again, the squeak of a floorboard alerted him. He raised his hands and lifted them toward me, so I walked right up to him, climbed onto the couch without stopping, and straddled his waist.
“Sit smaller. I’m not a fucking gymnast.”
He immediately shifted to bring his legs together and let me kneel on either side of his thighs. My fingers found the edge of the plastic wrapper and tore. When I pulled out the small circle, I hoped it would fit. They were designed to expand, but really, this guy was in a different category.
“If you break this, I swear…” It didn’t go as far up his shaft as condoms did on regular guys, but it looked safe. “How the fuck do you fit? Have you ever broken one?”
“Ah, no.” He huffed out. His taut stomach quivered next to my fingers. “Can’t say I have.”
I could have skipped the teacher role-play and ridden him right then. It would have taken two seconds to shift into position, drop on him, and go. But we had our game, our deal. I would educate him on how to pleasure me. I placed one finger across his lips to get his attention back on my face.
“Eyes on your instructor.” I didn’t laugh, even though I felt a grin close to bursting, because he seemed nervous. “Time for the syllabus.”
His eyes locked on the two fingers from my other hand that I raised to my throat. “Start here. Use your mouth.” His gaze followed when my fingers drew across my collarbone to the spot where my neck joined my shoulder. “Follow the contours.”
He licked his lips.
“Then spend time here.” I trailed my hand slowly across the slope of my breast until I reached my nipple. Fully conscious of his attention, I circled my nipple. “Spend a long time.”
His intensity, holy shit. He was completely focused on my hand. I’d never seen anything so hot. I pinched myself, then switched to the other nipple. His eyes were huge, watching my hands, and his chest rose and fell so fast, he could have been sprinting.
The attention made me nervous, so I kept talking. “Do everything you think of.”
I bent toward him until my lips were inches from his temple. “Do it now.”
His mouth started at my jumping pulse point. At first, he was so slow, so careful, I thought I might pass out. Or jam his cock in my pussy to make him hurry. His mouth was a revelation, wet, warm, hungry, then one of his hands shifted lower. From stroking my shoulder, his knuckles trailed down my breast and across my nipple and strummed back, and then across, again and again. The tiny movements pulled all my attention to that peak. And then it wasn’t his knuckles, it was his fingers, and he was rolling and lightly twisting the points he’d honed, until I had to arch my back and open my mouth to breathe.
“This?” His lips hadn’t followed his fingers yet. “Do I have this right?”
“Fuck yes.”
I watched his hands cup my breasts and raise them until his thumbs—fucking damn, his thumbs—rasped across my nipples. And he did it again, kept doing it, teasing me, so I pushed his head lower. “Next lesson. Use your mouth.”
His tongue gave me one stroke, one, like he was testing me or testing himself.
“More.” By now, my nipples were hard points, and the skin around them puckered with need.
Whatever had been holding him back burst, and his mouth captured my breast. Lips, tongue, teeth, nothing tentative in how he straight-up worshipped my tits. One hand plucking and rolling at a nipple while his mouth worked the other. I stretched with want, arching closer to his body, one hand wrapped around his neck.
“Like this?” he whispered into my skin.
“Yes, that.”
His hips got in the action too, and I had to grip his shoulders to not get bucked off. The movement of my body added to the tension his mouth was putting on my breasts.
“Fuck.” If I threw my head back and thrust my breasts closer to his face, I couldn’t watch him, and for some reason, I needed to watch him. But I needed more of his mouth.
Then he pushed my tits together and sucked both nipples into his mouth at the same time, and I jolted into him. Tonight, my breasts were so sensitive. “Ah, fuck. That.”
He didn’t stop. He didn’t pause. I don’t think he even breathed. My breasts seemed to be all he needed, until I was so close to coming, I stopped directing and lost myself in pure response. My body hummed, my brain fuzzed out, and all I knew was this man’s mouth, his hands, his shoulders. When the orgasm crashed through me, I couldn’t even tell where or how it had started. Could one start in my breasts? Could it start in every part of me at once? I didn’t know, but that’s what it felt like.
