Falling Into Us (21 page)

He made a face at me, then assumed an overtly ridiculous flexing pose, and I laughed so hard I snorted, even as I appreciated the view. He was being silly, I knew, bending forward with his hands clasped in front of himself, but the pose worked to flex every muscle in his upper body to incredible effect.
 

A thought struck me, and I acted on it before I could lose my nerve. I stood up in front of him, then reached for his zipper, feeling the springy hardness of him behind his boxers. I was shaking again, shivering all over, suddenly cold and terrified of what I was about to, but determined to go through with it. I unzipped him, shoved his jeans down, crouching down with them to help him lift his feet out of them, one at a time. I was kneeling in front of him then, eye level with his privates. I could see him bulging against the tight cotton of his gray boxer-briefs. Still kneeling, I curled my fingers between his skin and the elastic, then, looking up to watch him, I pulled his underwear down, baring him completely.
 

I sucked in a breath, seeing him again. Oh, god. Oh, god. So much. Could I do this?

I leaned forward, parting my mouth, felt him against my lips, tasted salt and musk, and then I was being lifted up.

“No, Becca. No.” He held my face in his hands, forcing my eyes to his. “Not that, not now, not like this.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or upset that he’d stopped me, especially after psyching myself up to do it for him. “You don’t want that?”

He frowned, clearly struggling with his answer. “I don’t think any guy could say ‘no, I don’t want that.’ But not…not in this situation. That’s not why we’re here. We’re here to share something together.” He searched my eyes. “Are you afraid?”

I looked down, away from his eyes, and was greeted by his manhood in all its glory, tall and thick. I looked back up to his eyes and nodded. “Yes,” I whispered. “I’m terrified.”

He pulled me against him, and I suddenly felt vulnerable and naked, even though I was still in my bra and underwear and he was completely bare. “We don’t have to do this. You didn’t…you didn’t have to do that. Buy new lingerie and do the whole stripping thing.”

“You didn’t like it?” I felt my nerves overtaking me, my false confidence leaving me.
 

He laughed. “Becca, baby. I
loved
it. But…I’m worried you were doing it because you thought I’d…I don’t know, expect it, maybe? Or maybe that I wouldn’t want you if you didn’t? Either that, or you were…overcompensating for being afraid.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

He nodded. “Hell, yes. I have no problem admitting I’m afraid. I’m nervous. I don’t know what we’re doing…what to do. I’ve heard it might hurt you, and I don’t want that. I just…I want it to be perfect, since it’s our first time, for both of us and as a couple. And I just…I love you, and I don’t want to mess anything up.”

I rested my head against his chest, feeling his hands caress my shoulders, my back. I liked having his hands on my skin; it was soothing, relaxing, calming…and erotic. He had full access to all of me like this. A flick of his hands, and I’d be naked. His hands made me forget my fears and accentuated them all at once. So confusing.
 

He just held me, smoothing his palms over my spine, my shoulder blades, my arms. I breathed, forcing myself to relax.
 

“Do you want to leave, Becca?” His voice was soft, concerned.

I shook my head against his chest. “No. I don’t.”

“You’re sure?” I nodded again. “Then kiss me,” he said, touching my chin.

I tilted my face up to his, lightly pressed my lips to kiss him. It was gentle, hesitant, almost chaste at first. Then his hands skated over my back, traced the line of my bra strap, descended lower to the small of my back. I gasped into his mouth at his increasingly hungry touch. I pressed closer to him, feeling myself squish against his chest. His hands arced into the sway of my back and over my ass, cupping, holding, and god…so perfect. I felt a hesitation in his kiss, and then he slipped his fingers under the fabric of my underwear, against my skin, skimming over my hips first and pushing my panties down. I stopped kissing him but left my lips against his, opened my eyes and gazed into his bright green stare.
 

He pushed my panties farther down, then slid his palms around to touch my bare flesh, and I closed my eyes in a drawn-out blink. My hands were on his shoulders, where they always seemed to gravitate during a kiss. I matched his action, carving my hands down his arms to his waist, his hips, then to the cool hardness of his backside and clutched it, kneaded it, explored it while he did the same to me.

We were acclimating to each other’s touch, the feel of naked skin. It was a slow introduction to completed nakedness. I’d only touched his man part—I nearly snorted out loud as I thought that silly, girly phrase in my own head. I wondered what to call it. I backed away from him and put my hand on his chest and drew a line downward, stopping just above it.
 

Then I grasped it, bold and sudden, and met his startled gaze. “What do you call this?”

“What?” He was confused by the question.

I slid my palm down him a bit and then back up. “This…what word do you use?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really refer to it much.” He glanced up and to the left as he thought, then flicked his gaze back to me. “If I have to use a word for it, I usually use the word ‘cock,’ I guess. Why?”

I lifted my shoulder a little. “Just curious. I couldn’t decide. I don’t like most of the words for it.”

He laughed. “I don’t, either. Usually, to be honest, it’s just ‘it.’” He took my hand and drew it away from him, from his “it.” “You gotta let go, or this will be over before it starts.”

I went back to caressing his buttocks. “I can touch you here, right?”

He blushed, and it was adorable. “Yeah, if you want. I like it.”

“You do?”

He shrugged, his hands resting on my hips. “Yeah.” He slid his palms around to my backside. “Do you like this?”

I nodded, never taking my gaze from his. “Yes, I do. A lot.” I still had my underwear partially on, which felt silly, so I wiggled out of them. “Now what?”

“The bed?”

I let him guide me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed, and I sat down, letting his body wedge my knees apart. His green gaze never wavered from mine as I scooted backward across the mattress, Jason following me. He reached past me and jerked the blankets and sheet away, and then I was on my back against the pile of pillows, Jason above me, my heart pounding, my nerves racing and my pulse thrumming and my skin singing and his hands sliding up my thighs.
 

I swallowed hard as he hovered above me. Everything inside me was at war. I wanted this so badly. I was terrified, I was eager, I was feeling sexy and desired, yet awkward and unsure. Jason paused, then swore under his breath. He was off the bed before I could ask him what the problem was, digging into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a string of condoms.

Oh. Oh, god. That made it all the more real. It was really going to happen, if I didn’t chicken out first.

He set them on the nightstand and slid onto the bed next to me, rather than above me. I traced the curve of his pectoral muscle. “I started birth control,” I said.

He seemed shocked. “You did?”

I nodded. “Yeah. My cousin Maria took me to a clinic last week. So…I’m protected, even without those.”

“Should we use them anyway?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably? Just to be…extra sure?”

He nodded, and his fingers slid along my hipbone, over my stomach and up between my breasts. “Before this goes any further, I just wanted to tell you…I love you.”

I smiled, the wall of nerves and fear melting a bit. “I love you, too. How’d you know I needed to hear that?”

His index finger followed the swell of my breast. “I guess I just wanted you to hear it, to know how I felt before we got…involved in things, so you’d know I wasn’t just saying it in the heat of things, you know? That I really feel it. I really love you.”

I tipped my body closer to his, trying desperately to mimic his sense of comfort with his own nudity. I wanted to cover up, to pull the blankets over my body, to cross my arms over my breasts and my legs over my privates. I didn’t, though. I summoned all my courage and let him see all of me. His gaze raked down over my body, over my breasts and hips, my legs, and then to the “V” between my thighs.
 

I called up the memory of how it had felt to have him touch me there, how the detonation within me had felt. It would be worth all this awkwardness to feel that again. There was no question of that.
 

“Kiss me, Jason.”
 

He leaned into me, his lips gently settling on mine, tenderly seeking out my response. I opened my mouth to his, let my tongue explore his lips, his teeth, letting my own hunger overtake me. It wasn’t enough to erase my doubts and fears, but it was enough to let me go on despite them. His palm cupped my hipbone, tilted my body so I was flat against the bed and he hovered over me from the side, his mouth never leaving mine. My thighs were pressed tight together, and when his fingers trailed over the hollow of leg and hip, I unconsciously clamped them tighter together. His hand slid down my thigh, over the quadricep and to my knee, dipped down between my legs and began a slow path upward, trailing fire along my skin. I forced my thighs to loosen as his touch rose upward, closer and closer. I called the memory of his touch into my mind, pushed out the doubt. I made myself touch him, and then let myself get lost in the heat of his skin, the hardness of his muscles, let myself enjoy the feel of his body under my hand. I touched him everywhere I could reach, except
there
. Lying down in a bed, his body bare against mine…the reality of imminent sex was overwhelming, and I wasn’t sure I was ready suddenly. I didn’t want to stop his touch, though. The callused pads of his index and middle fingers were at the juncture of my thighs, and I was shaking all over, panting, our kiss broken. I felt his eyes on me, and I knew I was still clamped down too hard for him to touch me properly. I had to loosen up or put a stop to the whole thing.

“Are you sure about this, Becca? We can stop.” His voice was low, close to my ear.

Somehow his words, so concerned, so genuine, made me determined to experience this. I didn’t want to let him down. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t want this. I wasn’t sure, not one hundred percent; I was
mostly
sure, and that had to be enough.

I relaxed my knees first, then my thighs. I met his gaze, his green eyes soft and so full of so much love. I forced my muscles to go slack, and I realized as I did so that my whole body was tensed and taut, even the hand wedged between our bodies curled into a fist.
 

“I’m sure. I’m just…nervous,” I said.

“So am I.”

“You don’t seem like it.”

He traced a line down my thigh, then back up the other one, each touch making me alternately tense and relax. “I am, though. I’m trying to play it cool, but…I’m nervous, too.”

“Scared, or nervous?”

“Both? I don’t want to stop, though. I don’t want to you to feel pressured.”

“But you want this?”

“Absolutely.” There was no hesitation in his voice at all.

I moved my legs apart, and his touch skated into the gap, a single finger tracing my opening, an almost-tickling brush along the sensitive skin. I breathed out with the fire of his finger’s grazing up and down, let my legs fall farther apart. I realized my eyes were closed again and forced them open, met his eyes. His gaze searched me for demurral as he slipped the tip of his finger into me, and I gasped, letting my hips lift a bit. It was enough of an encouragement for him.
 

Oh…he’d found the perfect place to touch me, and I couldn’t help but gasp again, breathe in and tilt my head back, raise my hips, widen my thighs, and silently urge him onward. How did he know exactly what I needed? How did he know that felt so good? Was he lying about having never done this before me? No, I knew he wasn’t, but the thought crossed my mind, because his finger at my clitoris was so perfect, exactly what I needed to let desire sweep over me.
 

Within seconds I was at the edge of explosion, a few circles of his fingers enough to have me writhing. It didn’t take much, I realized. I’d heard other girls talking about how they couldn’t make it happen, that they’d faked it with their boyfriends, or exaggerated their reactions. I couldn’t fathom that. All it took was his touch, his fingers just there touching me, and I was lost, unable to hold back the whimpers escaping me. How could anyone fake it? How could you fake such glorious rapture? I was moaning as I came apart, my breathing ragged and my body trembling, not from nerves now but with tremors of ecstasy.
 

I heard something crinkle and then he was kneeling over me, his hands beside my head. I opened my eyes just in time to see his mouth descend to my breast, and he took a nipple in his mouth, drawing a groan from me. And then I felt it, a gentle pressure between my thighs. His hands were visible on either side of my face, so I knew what it was.
 

His eyes sought mine. “Becca? Is this okay? Are you ready?”

All the world fell away, and all that remained was Jason’s eyes on mine, his breathing slow and his lips close to mine…and the hot, hard presence between my legs. I hesitated, suddenly unsure all over again. He felt my hesitation and began to pull away, so sweet, so considerate, and that decided me. I reached between us, my heart hammering in my chest so hard I was sure he could see the pounding against my ribs. I grasped him in my fist, so soft and warm yet iron hard. He gasped at my touch, his eyes going hooded. I nestled him between the damp lips of my privates and drew in a long breath.

“I’m r-rrr-ready.” It was the first time I’d stuttered in weeks. He caught it, of course, and hesitated. I slid my palms down his back and pulled him closer to me. “I promise—I’m ready.” I made sure my voice was strong, sure, and confident.