When I pull back, she’s staring down at my mouth, and I kiss her again, getting her full attention. I pull her into my lap, her knees on either side of my hips, groins fully aligned. I’m tucked, because at my size, tucking is the only way to avoid awkwardness.
Her nipples poke through the thin fabric of her dress, and with the lights flickering at her back, she looks like some sort of noir angel. I grip her hips, sinking my thumbs into her flesh beneath her dress. My cock is so painfully hard, in a way I haven’t been in years.
“Now Miss Clara June, how about you tell me justhowI fixed your box.”
I’ll cry big ugly man tears if this box thing isn’t a euphemism for her cunt. I realize Archie had no clue what portion of adult conversation he’d overheard and repeated, but so help me if this is about her washing machine, I may actually start sobbing.
“I’m embarrassed,” she admits, then flattens her palms against my chest, thumbs stroking over where my nipples are. I’m not sure if she knows it, but it feels good, and I already feel too good. Too close to the edge, like a breathless tightrope walker making those last bold steps. You could reach a great victory, or tumble incredible heights.
I feel like gambling.
I grip her wrists.
“Don’t be embarrassed.”
She nods, looking at where I render her motionless, my thumbs now softly tracing circles on the insides of her wrists. “For the last few years, and even the last year or so with Troy, I was… I couldn’t…” she shakes her head, and moves to cover her face, but I don’t release my hold on her wrists.
“Shh,” I soothe. “You don’t have to hide your face from me. And you don’t have any reason to feel embarrassed, either.” I lean forward off the couch and dip my face toward hers, stealing another kiss, this time letting our tongues slide together for a hot moment. “C’mon Mama, open up.”
We both know I’m asking about something specific, but the impact of my words feather between us, testing my tuck job.
She licks her lips. “I was unable to have an orgasm for the last six years.”
I haven’t touched her yet. I haven’t pressed my lips to her cunt and stroked her clit with my tongue, I have yet to slip my hand under her panties on a lazy Saturday morning to make her moan, I haven’t worked myself inside of her and left her dripping and dazed.
“I thought I was broken,” she adds, slowly allowing her eyes to find mine again. She’s nervous and embarrassed, but she doesn’t need to feel either. “I thought I was broken, and for a while I wondered if that was why Troy left. Because I couldn’t, you know,come.”
The way she purrs that sexy word.
I suppose this is what I thought we were talking about. Her box being a metaphor. And when Archie told me that Clara June told Jackie I’d fixed her broken box, I thought that too was a metaphor. Maybe her box was symbolic for herheart? I don’t know. I was just so eager to banter with her about it, and watch her cheeks get red, and that adorable little smile to curve those sweet lips of hers.
I crash my mouth to hers, and I know I don’t have the full story, that she has more to say, and there’s so much more for me to hear. But hearing Clara June say the word come has scrambled my brain a little. It feels like I’m fourteen and a girl grazed my crotch on the bus or something. I’m wild for her, but exercise restraint, breaking the kiss to pull back.
“You are not broken,” I assure her.
She smiles, but the shyness still lingers in her cheeks, the apples pink. “I know that now… because of you.”
My brows furrow, and my dick is painfully hard.
“I’m embarrassed to admit this but that night you hugged me, there in the kitchen,” she says, referencing the night we fell asleep together on the couch and woke to Tanner in excruciating pain. “You hugged me and… it happened. In your arms, pressed to your chest, everything just… I don’t know. Everything inside me finally aligned and even though there was no—contact—” she says, clearly still surprised herself. “It happened.”
My throat goes dry and I blink a few times, calibrating.
But I guess I didn’ttrulyexpect this.
My chest burns, and the back of my eyes do, too. “I—” I trail off. And this time, Clara June smirks, and frees her hands from where I’m holding them, smacking them playfully against my chest.
“Gettin’ shy, coach?”
If she even slightly moves on this couch, in my lap, my cockhead is going to slip out from under my belt line and we’re both gonna be in trouble.
I hold her hips steady. “You had an orgasm when you hugged me?” I knew she felt solace in my arms. Her breathymoan. The extra seconds of clinging to me. To know she was coming as I held her? That her sweet, pink little pussy was clenching and dripping while I held her?
In one swift movement, I grab Clara June, and put her on her back in the center of the couch, leaning over her. After a dick adjustment, I hover over her, dusting my lips along her cheek, chin and collarbone. I press a kiss to the side of her throat, then find her lips.
“Say it. Tell me.” She knows what I’m demanding, and she gives in willingly, easily.
“You turn me on so bad, Coach. And when you hugged me that night, I wanted you so bad, it just happened.” Her eyes search mine, and her full lips part. “I had an orgasm.” She swallows, and I watch her throat bob as my groin throbs. “I came so hard, for the first time in years.”
