“I can’t—I can’t wait anymore, Oz. Please?” Kylie’s face, inches from mine, is pleading.
She grabs her purse from the floor, keeping as much of her body against mine as possible while she finds the little gray box of condoms and opens it, pulls the string of foil squares out, rips one free. Tears it open, examines it. Figures out which way it rolls, and sits up to straddle me.
I’m still, letting her do this. Watching her beauty, breathless at the fantasy of this happening, the implausibly incredible truth of this gorgeous, perfect, girl, this woman, naked with me, wanting me, needing me, allowing me to touch her and kiss her. It shouldn’t be me, but it is. I’m just a hood rat, a metal kid, a pot-smoking fighter, the kid who’s been to juvie and psych wards, who’s been suspended more times than I could ever count, expelled once, beaten up countless times, shot, nearly stabbed once, left for dead in a parking lot, fatherless, friendless, homeless, rootless. How could I possibly deserve to have this glorious pale-skinned fire-haired, lightning-eyed beauty, this goddess? But here she is, in my room, with me, wrapping her tender eager little white fingers around my aching c**k and sliding the condom on, rolling it down, so gently erotic that I don’t dare breathe or move or feel or un-clench my muscles. And she’s watching me, perhaps seeing all the thoughts in my head, seeing me for me the way she always has.
“Oz?” she whispers. “Are you here?”
I slide my hands up her thighs and grasp her waist. “Yeah, babe. I am. I’m just marveling.”
“At what?” She’s sitting up on my thighs, balanced easily, her heavy tits not quite covered by the copper fall of her hair, her thighs opened enough to show me her pu**y, to show me how wet she is for me.
“You.” I swallow hard, blink, emotional in a way I’m not sure how to deal with or express. “Just f**king amazed that you’re here with me. That I get to have you, get to do this with you. You’ve waited so long for the right guy, the right time, and for reasons I just cannot f**king fathom, you pick me. Messed-up, f**ked-up me. You…you’re perfect, Kylie. So perfect. Every inch of your body is perfect. Your soul is…so beautiful. Your mind, your heart, your personality — you just glow like a sun in the darkness, Kylie. You light up the blackness that has been my life, and I don’t know how to ever be the kind of man you need and deserve, but I want to try. For you, for me, and for us. For the possibility of us.” I’m letting all this come out of me, honesty, truth, things I’m not all that acquainted with. “Goddamn, listen to me, going on like some emotional sissy.”
Kylie is crying. Fuck, I’ve messed this up before it can begin. “Oz. Jesus, Oz.” She leans down, and her big soft boobs squish against my chest, and her mouth trembles against mine. Her hair falls to either side of our faces, and I feel her tears, the hammering of her heart, the shaking of her hands as they clutch my face. “I don’t even know what to say to all that. Except, you already are what I want, what I need, what I deserve. And I’m not perfect, but the fact that you think so makes me so happy. Because I think you’re perfect, too, messed up, f**ked up, beautiful, tough, strong, sweet, and sexy.”
She rolls off me, pulls at me. I move above her, slip my hips between her knees, and she hugs me with her thighs, holds my shoulders and looks up at me, expectant, waiting, begging without words.
“Kylie, this is what you want? With me? Now? You’re sure?” I have to ask, have to make sure.
She laughs. “Yes, Oz. So sure. So ready. Please, please. I’m aching. My insides ache. My—my pu**y is on fire. I need you. Touch me. Make me come.”
Shit. How am I supposed to resist that? I can’t, and I don’t have to. I touch her with my two middle fingers, and find her wet and tight. Slip my fingers inside her, caress her, stroke her, spread her essence over her clit and pinch that little erect nub of nerves and rub and stroke it until she’s gasping and moving beneath me, moaning. I circle, swipe, circle. Delve deep, touch her deep inside, curl my fingers to find that spot that makes her writhe and growl in her throat, circle her clit until she’s bucking, and watching her come apart makes me harder than ever, makes my c**k ache to be inside her.
“Oz…oh, f**k, Oz.” Her eyes fly open, and she drives her hips upward, spine arcing, br**sts heaving as she comes to my touch.
“Ready?” I nudge against her opening.
She nods, breathless, a jerky bob of her head, and she reaches between us, grips my c**k and nestles the head between the wet lips of her pu**y. “Yeah, baby. I’m ready. So ready.”
I gently, slowly slide into her, and I can barely hold on, barely hold back, because every notion of good or pleasant or perfect is blasted into nothing by the feel of her slick, tight heat. I can’t breathe, can barely support my own weight. I feel resistance inside her, and know that this is the part that will hurt her. She feels it, her face tight, brows drawn.
I still. “Okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. Just…give me a second.”
“Does it hurt?”
She nods. “Yeah. It does. Not bad, but it does.”
I’m shaking all over, need desperately to move, but I don’t, can’t, won’t. “Tell me what you need, what you want.”
She grips me by the shoulders, her fingers claws in my skin. “Just—do it. Push through it.” I take a deep breath and hesitate, then touch my forehead to hers, and push deep. I feel the skin of resistance break, and she gasps sharply. “Oh, shit. That hurt.”
“I’m sorry, Ky, so sorry—” I hate the pain on her face, but even as I watch, stilled inside her, I see her expression shifting.
She shakes her head, and the fingers of her left hand press over my lips to silence me. “Don’t apologize. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s okay. I’m okay.”
Her eyes widen, and I can’t help but shift my hips a little, seeking relief from the burgeoning pressure inside me, seeking relief for the aching need of my throbbing cock. She feels so good, and I need to move, but I won’t until she’s ready. Yet I can’t help the little wiggle of my hips, and she gasps.
“Oh. Oohh, do that again, Oz.” Her voice is shaky, but with equal parts awe and pleasure. As slowly and gingerly as I possibly can, I pull back, and her grip on my shoulders moves to my waist, then to my ass, one hand on each of my ass cheeks, and when I hesitate, she pulls at me ever so slightly. “Ohhhhmygod. That feels so good, Oz. Again, again, baby.”