Monica Murphy - Four Years Later

“I don’t want to go too fast,” he whispers. “You gotta tell me, Chelsea.”

“Tell you.” I swallow hard when I feel his mouth move along my jaw, his teeth nipping my flesh. “Tell you what?”

He cups my chin, forcing me to look at him. I blink, my vision refocusing so I meet his smoldering gaze. His mouth is swollen, his eyes slumberous, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Owen look so sexy, so achingly beautiful. I want to touch his face, trace his every feature, but then his words penetrate my lust-filled brain and I’m left gaping at him.

“Are you a virgin?”

Owen

I wait for her answer, all the words I could ever say to ease her worries clogged in my throat. She stares at me, my bold, beautiful princess gone in an instant, replaced with my wide-eyed, lip-chewing, nervous Chelsea.

I’m familiar with this version but I much preferred the girl with no boundaries, the one who begged me. That had been hot. And I know she’s still there, buried beneath the nerves and the expectations. I just need to coax her back out.

“I …” She breathes deep and closes her eyes, drops her head so her forehead is pressed against mine. “Yes,” she admits, her voice small. “You’re my first.”

I knew it. I’ve always known it, pretty much from the first moment I met her, but to actually hear her say the words confirming my suspicions sends a bolt of possessiveness throughout my entire body. It’s electric, this feeling. Vibrating beneath my skin, making me shake, and I tighten my arms around her, hold her close. Move my head so I can whisper in her ear, “We gotta make this good for you, Chels.”

“It is good,” she whispers back. “So, so good.”

Closing my eyes, I hold her, convincing myself to calm the fuck down. I’m not doing this. I’m not fucking her in a hotel room in an unknown city, Chelsea still edged with that hint of sadness that had consumed her earlier. I don’t care how bold she is, how much she wants it, how good she feels, her naked body pressed against mine.

I’m high. I might not remember this clearly. Worse, I might mess up somehow and I could never, ever forgive myself for that.

“I just want you to touch me.” She sounds restless, frustrated, and I lean away from her so I can look at her pretty face. Smoothing my hand over her hair, I push the stray strands away from her cheeks, my gaze locking with hers.

“I want to touch you, too,” I admit, letting my eyes drop to her chest. God, she’s perfect. I’ve never liked big or fake boobs, and I feel like Chelsea’s were made just for me. Unable to stop myself, I curl my hand around her breast and squeeze, circling my thumb around her rosy nipple.

Her pretty little nipple reminds me of her middle name. The poem I wrote for her. How I could reenact that poem right here, right now. Slip my hand between her legs, searching those pretty pink folds, and have her crying out my name, shattering in an instant …

“Lie back,” I tell her, removing my hand from her chest so I can guide her where I want her.

She goes willingly, her body trembling, her eyes wide as she stares up at me. I lean over and kiss her, taking it deep and hot in an instant, hoping she’ll lose her head so she’s not so focused on the moment and worrying what’s about to happen to her.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Chels?” I move so I’m the one straddling her now, my mouth on her breasts, my lips wrapped around one nipple, then another. She arches into me, a breathy little moan escaping her, and my cock is hard, heavy and aching as it presses against my briefs, desperate to get free.

Damn it, I can’t take off my underwear. The moment I do, I’m done for. I’ll be inside her so fast she won’t know what happened.

“Hey.” I lightly bite her nipple, making her yelp, and she glares up at me, shock written all over her face. “I asked you a question.”

“A question I’m not going to answer, Owen.” She slings her arm over her eyes and huffs out a breath. Indicating that yes, indeed, she has touched herself, and that particular image pops into my brain with so much force I have to take an imaginary crowbar to it and pry it out of there before I get too distracted.

“Hmm, that tells me a lot.” I let my hand wander down the length of her body, trying my best to pay close attention to all the signs, the indications of what she likes, what makes her crazy, what doesn’t do anything for her. She prefers a gentle touch. I’ve discovered that over the last couple of weeks, every time I’ve had her in my arms. A skim of my nails along her skin, or I’ll rub circles in her neck, along her shoulders, kiss her softly, taking it deeper, licking her neck …

I keep my touch light, running my fingers along her arm, across her stomach, back up to circle her breasts, her nipples. She holds her breath, releasing it in a shuddery exhale before she holds it again, and I smile at her, loving how strongly my touch makes her react.

“Breathe, Chels.” I dip my head and lick her nipple, making her gasp. “The only way you can enjoy this is if you’re breathing.”

“Trust me, I’m enjoying it, Owen.” Her voice trembles and she closes her eyes when my fingers map the sweet curve of her stomach, circle the slight dip of her belly button. Her skin is so fucking soft. Everywhere. “So, so much.”

She spreads her legs the slightest bit and my hand wanders farther, grazing her pubic hair, the heat of her branding my hand and I haven’t even touched her there yet. I can smell her, though, lemony sweet, unique and musky, the scent of sex and woman and Chelsea.

I slip one finger down, encountering wetness. Heat. So much heat. I go farther and groan when I find her slick and creamy. Hot and wet. I search her folds at the same time I fuse my mouth with hers and swallow her cry.

She moves her hips against my finger and I add another, then my thumb, which I use to circle her clit. I keep it slow, my kiss slow, my brain slow as I bring her closer. Closer still.

Responsive. She’s so responsive. I never want this to stop. I want to remember this moment forever and I’m afraid it’ll slip right out of my brain when I fall asleep afterward. Sometimes when I’m high, I forget. And the shit I smoked earlier had been good. Too good. The kind of good that’ll make you forget everything, because that’s what you usually want to do when you smoke weed.

But I don’t want to forget any of this. This moment is one of the most important of my life. I’m about to make Chelsea come for the first time by my hand.

Not necessarily a moment I can talk about in public, but it’s mine. All mine. And I don’t ever want to forget it.

“Owen.” She breathes my name across my lips, the sound of her voice sending a spiral of heat throughout my blood, and I lick her lips, thrust my tongue in her mouth, silencing her.

I push my index finger inside her, her tight, velvety hot flesh clamping all around me. God, she would feel so amazing around my cock. Too damn amazing. I’d probably come in an instant.

I could almost come just thinking about it.

She moves against my hand, thrusting her hips, arching her back, trying to send me deeper. I add another finger, my thumb brushing her clit back and forth, over and over, and she lifts her hips higher, her feet planted on the mattress, her legs spread.

I’m watching her, fascinated by how she reacts to my touch. She’s chanting my name, saying shit I can’t even understand, and I hook my finger deep inside her, press my thumb hard against her clit. She stills, her lips parted, her eyes squeezed shut.

And then she’s coming, her entire body shaking. I can feel her orgasm to her very depths, can feel the trembling and rhythmic pulsating deep within her body, all around my fingers.

It’s like a fucking miracle. Her body responds naturally, beautifully. She sinks to the mattress, limp and sated, still trembling, her legs spread wide and all that pink, slick goodness still on display.

Hell. If I could sink deep inside her right now and lose myself, I so would.

But I won’t. For once in my life, I’m not going to be selfish. I’ll be the giver but not the taker. No matter how difficult it is.

Slowly I withdraw my fingers from her body, leaning in and giving her a kiss before I bring my fingers to my lips and smell her lingering scent. Taste her.

Next time I make her come, I think I should do it with my mouth.

“Oh my God, did you just lick your fingers?” She releases a shuddery sigh and I touch her lips with my hand, trace them with my index finger. The very one that had just been buried deep inside her.

“I promise, next time I’m going down on you. Taste yourself,” I say, feeling like a dirty bastard but I don’t care. Heat flares in my gut as she tentatively darts her tongue out and licks, her expression full of curiosity.

“Salty,” she whispers.

I stretch out beside her, brush my lips against her forehead. “Delicious.”

She loops her arm around me and nestles close, her face against my chest. The room is quiet, I can still hear her accelerated breaths, and I run my fingers over her tangled hair, again and again, hoping to soothe.

“That was …” Her voice drifts off.

“Good? Okay? So-so?”

Chelsea giggles and presses a kiss to my chest. “It was wonderful and you know it.”

“Glad to hear it.” My cock is throbbing, reminding me it has needs too, but I tell the greedy bastard to back off.

“But what about you? Don’t you want to …”

“Come? Not tonight, Chels. Tonight is all about you.” I kiss her forehead again, needing her to know how much she matters to me though I’m not sure how I can put it into words.

So I remain quiet, just holding her, trying to calm my racing heart, enjoying the blankness that still lingers in my brain. I could go to sleep like this.

If a certain naked Chelsea would stop wiggling against me.

“But aren’t you …”

I love how she can’t come right out and say it. It’s kind of cute. “Hard? Hell yeah. You want to feel it?”

“No!” She pauses, and I muffle a laugh. “Yes,” she says shyly. “I do. Really.”

“Then go for it.” I pull away from her slightly so I’m lying on my back, practically daring her to make a grab. I remove my arm from beneath her and fold both arms behind my head, going for casual, easygoing nothingness.

Inside, though, my nerves are rioting. My body’s screaming for her to touch me. I doubt she’ll work up the nerve.

Chelsea

There’s no way after what he gave me that I’m not going to give him something in return.

My body is still a shuddery, limp mess. I’ve never been very comfortable touching my body. I’ve read books that have given me pleasurable tingles between my legs and I’d try a few times to touch myself there, but I never was really comfortable with it.

I’ve lived such a sheltered life. Parents who never talked about sex but a father who was out screwing every woman he could find. The contradiction there is a psychiatrist’s dream, I’m sure.

I’ve read enough and watched enough TV and movies to know that sex can be amazing. Can feel so good. Usually it just scared me. Not with Owen, though. And the way he just touched me … God.

That had been amazing.

He thinks I’m not going to touch him in return, though. I can tell by the teasing tone of his voice, the smug look as he flops flat on his back, his arms behind his head, a little smirk on his face.

I prop myself up on my elbow and study him. Starting with his strong, muscular neck, his firm collarbone, his beautiful chest. His nipples are flat, brown, and small and his tanned skin is stretched taut over solid, beautifully shaped muscle. His stomach is ridged and flat, that dark brown trail of hair leading from his navel toward his erection fascinating. Without thought I reach out, drag my finger through the downy soft hair. Following down, down, until I brush against his erection.

It twitches and moves beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs, and I draw my hand back as if it just tried to bite me.

Owen laughs, and I turn a murderous glare on him. “Don’t make fun,” I say, my voice prim.

“Ah, Chels. Never. You’re just too cute.” He cups my cheek, his thumb gliding over my skin. “You’ve never touched a guy like this before, have you?”

“No.” I feel silly, being so inexperienced, and I shouldn’t beat myself up over it. When would I ever get a chance to do something like this? I’ve been alone and socially awkward most of my teenage years. Boys never paid attention to me.