Page 61 of Curious
Camden
It’s the weekend, and I’m making out with Shelby in bed. This is becoming our usual, and you’d think I’d be getting used to how intensely I feel about him.
I’m not.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m enjoying the hell out of being able to touch him. His body is so sexy—how he’s masculine but not as big as me is a turn-on in a new and different way.
I want to throw him around a bit, but I also want to care for him. That’s confusing.
What isn’t confusing, though, is my body’s reaction to him. When I kiss him for any length of time, I get aroused.
I reach down and squeeze his ass, pulling him closer as we explore each other’s mouth. He makes these little moans that I’m not even sure he’s aware of. Whimper-groans that turn me on even more.
I love it.
He runs a palm up my chest, lingering on the little silver barbells in my nipples, and as I tug him to me, he wraps that arm around me and hoists a leg up so we can get closer. Our cocks touch, and it’s so fucking pleasurable I don’t know what to do. Getting myself off isn’t good enough anymore. Something about the communion with him is just better. It’s awesome.
Soon I’m pushing him back and settling between his legs, rubbing against him like a cat against a piece of furniture. And he’s whispering, “Camden. God. That feels so good.”
“I want to make you come.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You will.” I’ve never had a partner as into it as Shelby is, and it makes me so fucking happy.
Plus, oh, he’s my husband, which adds a whole other level to this. Like we’re invisibly bonded.
I need to be careful, though. I can enjoy him now, but it’s starting to feel like he’s mine permanently. And that’s a dangerous thing for me to think, because it’s not true. We’re coming up on ten weeks of marriage, and my ankle is almost healed.
His lips nudge my neck while his hand explores my torso. His weight against me feels so fucking good. “I really want to ride your dick,” Shelby says, panting.
A cocktail of apprehension and excitement bubbles through my veins, and I try to calm my fear. I put the brakes on having anal sex when he originally asked, because I wanted to learn what he liked in bed first. Not that anal is some kind of goal or the One True Sex or anything. I just needed some time. But now I’m ready for it, too.
“How did I guess you were a bottom? Or are you vers?” I nibble on his neck.
“Hey, you know the terminology.” He thrusts so his cock rubs against mine, and we both groan.
“Queer siblings.” My breaths are getting ragged.
So are his. In between pants, he gets out, “I wasn’t expressing surprise. It’s acknowledgment that you’ve been exposed to more gay culture than the average bear.”
“I’m not a bear,” I say, and he laughs, then moans.
“You got it right. I’m mostly a bottom.”
We keep kissing, and kissing, and kissing. “I’m ready,” I whisper. “If you still want me to fuck you.”
“I do,” he murmurs immediately. “I’m good to go.”
Time to admit a few fears. “I’m afraid I’ll get inside you and come immediately. But I do want to fuck you.”
“If you come, then you do. We’ll simply have to practice again,” he says with a sexy wink. “I say you should go for it.”
I don’t know if we’re going too fast or not fast enough. I don’t know if we’re going from zero to sex and should slow down. I just want to fuck my husband, date him, and kiss him lots, and if that’s a strange order of operations, so be it.
Sometimes you prepare as-built plans after you construct something, because it isn’t what was originally envisioned. I hadn’t planned on being a husband to a man or for Shelby to be in my life, but I am digging this so much. I’m going to have to create as-builts for my life.
“Let me prep,” he says, reaching for the lube.
“I can do it for you.” I take the bottle from him and pour some into my hand. Then I lift his legs up and gently probe his hole with a finger. He’s so hot and tight. It’s going to be amazing to fuck him. “You’re gorgeous, and you’re going to feel so good on my cock.”
