Page 53 of She's the Star

When I was younger, I cursed my less than impressive stature, but now I want to rejoice that I stopped growing well before I hit six feet because our pelvises are aligned perfectly. My hardness presses into her softness and my eyes almost roll into my head.

My hands settle on her hips, my thumbs sneaking below her shirt and stroking her bare skin. She trembles slightly underneath my fingertips, and I feel it throughout my body.

She breaks apart on a gasp. “I want you in my bed.”

That.

Yes.

I try to seal our lips together again, but before I can, she says, “I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Pressure me?” I echo, my fingers tightening so we stay glued together.

“Sleeping together would change things. I don’t—” She cuts herself off. “I don’t do casual sex. If we sleep together, it’ll mean something to me.”

“It’ll mean something to me, too.” I’ve had plenty of casual sex, but I’ve never had sex that mattered, so I don’t fully comprehend what’ll change, but I’m ready to find out.

Her eyes search my face, and then she takes my hand and pulls me along behind her. When she reaches her bedroom, she turns, leans forward, and gently presses her lips to mine once again. This time it feels like more than just a kiss.

She hitches one of her legs on my hip and boosts herself into my arms. I stagger as I try to balance her weight, and she shifts so that somehow she’s mostly supporting herself. Why is that so hot? My hands grip her ass as she rises so she’s slightly taller than me. It’s an excellent angle to get lost in the feeling of her body pressing into mine. Surely we can’t stay in this position forever, but I’m going to enjoy it as long as possible because her warmth and softness are bliss.

She rocks her hips, and I almost see stars. My dick is desperate for more friction, but I don’t want to embarrass myself, so I tighten my grip on her ass and anchor her against me. She keeps kissing me as I stumble toward the bed.

I intend to set her down gently, but she doesn’t release her legs from my waist, so I sprawl on top of her. She giggles against my neck as I crush her into the mattress.

“You were supposed to let go,” I grumble into her hair.

She laughs harder and still doesn’t release me. I can’t help laughing along with her even though I couldn’t have been less smooth if I’d tried.

“I like the way you feel against me,” she says.

“Me too.” I gasp as she squirms. The press of our bodies through our clothes is not nearly enough, so I lever myself up enough to peel my shirt over my head.

With her superior strength, she rolls us so that I’m sprawled beneath her. She isn’t particularly gentle as if she’s operating purely based on need. She straddles my hips and straightens, her gaze trained on my bare chest.

Her hands coast down my outer arms, tangle with my fingers, and then cruise along the sensitive skin of my inner wrist, up to the crease of my elbow, and then the length of my bicep.

Her touch is firm without being demanding.

I’m being seduced. Or worshiped.

There’s a voice inside of me telling me to participate, to reach up and run my hands underneath her shirt, but there is a competing voice telling me to freeze, to stay still and let her explore. It isn’t much of a competition because I can’t convince my limbs to move.

Maybe it’s instinct. Or maybe we’re communicating without words. Whatever it is, I lie beneath her, heart racing, breath shallow but still fast, and let her map every inch of my upper body. She charts the muscles in my shoulders and pauses when she encounters the sparse hair on my chest. She strokes it, swirling over and around my nipples, leaving tingling warmth everywhere before weaving her way toward my pants, not allowing a single inch of space to go untouched.

When she reaches the waistband, she confidently pops the clasp. In a fluid motion, she lifts her hips, and at the same time, somehow manages to strip my pants and briefs.

She blankets me with her body as she brings our mouths together in a messy kiss. The feel of denim pressing against my erection sends a jolt through my system, knocking me back into my body. I don’t mind being seduced, or letting her explore, but she is still wearing all her clothes. It’s unclear exactly how I allowed that to happen, but I’m desperate for her to be as bare as I am.

Multi-tasking is not easy when she’s kissing me, but I finally have the wherewithal to slide my hands underneath her shirt, push it up, break our kiss for the briefest inhale, and then pull her shirt over her head.

The silky-smooth skin of her back is warm underneath my palms. The fine lace of her bra tickles my chin as I drop soft kisses down her chest.

Her breath hitches when I reach her waistband. As if aware of my desperation or feeling it herself, she straightens her legs and shimmies the jeans down her hips. When she has them off, she raises onto her knees, kneeling between my legs.

My motions stall when I register the lacy white and black underwear set that somehow manages to appear both innocent and enticing. It conceals almost nothing, but I like the tease of it. I want to see what’s underneath, but at the same time, I want to savor the sight of her barely covered golden skin and revel in the anticipation.

I feel myself sinking back into the stupor of sensation, but thankfully, I manage to keep my wits enough to allow my fingers to keep tracing the edges of the lace on her bra, dipping inside, almost brushing her nipples, and then receding, each time getting closer, until she finally groans. I’m so caught up in what I’m doing that an animalist sound explodes out of me when her hand wraps around my shaft. The callouses on her fingers scrape over the sensitive skin as my hips involuntarily thrust into her fist. Lust clouds my vision. “Amazing.”

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