All Played Out

I shove playfully at his shoulder, and as he tips over, he once again brings me with him. We roll so that I’m on top, and I can feel the hard length of his erection nestled in the heat between my legs. We’re inches away from tumbling off the bed, and one of my legs hangs over the side, my toes brushing the carpet.

He’s still got one hand on my cheek, and he uses it to start drawing me down toward his mouth, and I can’t explain why it makes me panic. It just does. Last night was good. Great. And it was exactly what I wanted. But I haven’t had time to think about what’s next. I have to think about what’s next . . . don’t I?

“I need to shower and get ready for class. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late.”

He keeps pulling me closer, until my mouth is just over his, not quite touching, but so close I can feel his every breath against my kiss-chapped lips. The promise of that nearness distracts me, and I feel my body melt into his, my soft stomach pressing against his harder one.

“Skip it,” he breathes.

“I—I can’t. I’ve never skipped a class. Not ever.” But it’s tempting. So very tempting.

“Is there a test today?” His lips swerve left, touching my cheek.

“No.”

“Do you have to turn in an assignment?” His tongue traces the sensitive spot at the corner of my jaw.

“No, but—”

“Skip it,” he murmurs against my ear. The heat of his breath makes me shiver and press closer. “Skip it and stay here with me.”

“Mateo—”

He hums. “I like my name in your mouth. Come on, girl genius. Think of your list. You’ve been doing a lot of things you’ve never done before. Give me one more. Let me thank you for last night.”

His other hand has found its way to my hip, and he uses it to rock me against him. And just like that . . . I find myself giving in. No, not just giving in. Throwing myself at him. Because even though I’m tender, it feels unbelievably good as he glides through the wetness between my legs. And he’s in my bed. And the morning light is playing over his bronze skin, and his eyes are dark and sleepy. And that’s another piece of Mateo Torres I want to lay claim to. I want to own this memory of him playful and pleading in my bed.

“Please,” he breathes, his voice strained and gravelly. “You want to make me beg, is that it? Is that on your list? Because I just might do it. For you.”

“No more after this.”

His grip on my hip tightens, and the hand on my cheek slides into my hair. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t skip any more classes after this. I won’t.”

He exhales, and the tight hold he has on me loosens. He thought I meant sex, that I meant no more of that. And his reaction, the way his whole body stiffened, takes away the last of my unease. I’m not the only one on edge here. I’d thought after the way I pulled him in here last night, the way I initiated things, that he had all the power. But I’ve got some, too.

“Shower?” I ask, and I can’t help but think of the night that I’d turned on all the lights in the house. His smile sweeps away the loneliness in a way that never could.

I CHECK OFF another first in the shower when Mateo kneels in front of me and teases me with his mouth and his fingers. I’m sore, and when I wince he places an apologetic kiss just below my belly button. He only uses his mouth from then on, and it takes me a long time to come, long enough that I try to stop him on more than one occasion because I feel bad for his knees, but he only laces his fingers through mine and pushes my hand back against the tile wall. When my orgasm does come, it’s slower than last night’s. Less detonation and more crashing wave. It starts at his mouth, and crests in my belly before, flowing out through all the rest of me. My legs don’t flail this time, but they do go numb, and if my back weren’t against the tile, I’m certain I wouldn’t have been able to keep my balance.

I want to return the favor, but I’m so deliciously exhausted from his long exploration of me with his mouth that my hands are shaky.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He takes my hand and wraps it around his erection. He has me squeeze harder than I expected, but under the fall of the shower, he slips through my fist easily. I try to kneel, but Mateo grabs my hips and keeps me upright.

“I’m already close,” he says. “A few times I thought I might come just with my mouth on you.”

He gets harder in my hand; bigger, too. And I’m embarrassed that for all I know about biology, I’m still surprised by his body, by how it works. Then he stiffens. He presses a hand into the wall by my head and leans his face into the crook of my neck as he groans. He jerks and pulses, and comes against my stomach.

And even though I’d been exhausted moments before, now I’m alert . . . and curious.

This is what I wanted to know. When I’d added losing my virginity to my bucket list, it had been no more than a mechanical act. It had been about the body, and that side of things is interesting enough. I do want to touch and explore and discover more, but it’s everything else I’d been naive about. Sex is about more than bodies.

And I don’t mean love, though I’m sure that does change the equation, too. I mean . . . he was on the edge just from giving me pleasure. He hadn’t even touched himself. I know because I remember vividly having his hands on my hips and our fingers tangled together and his grip on my thighs.

That’s the side of sex that fascinates me, what made me curious enough to watch that couple in the library. Pleasure isn’t just about touching the right places or making the right movements. There’s another element to it. And I don’t know what it’s called or how it works, but I want to.