Page 86 of Bad at Love
I manage to drag my attention back up to his eyes. He has the cockiest smile on, tempered only by the heat in his gaze.
He starts undoing his belt. Then the button of his pants.Then his zipper is pulled down with a sound that echoes throughout the room.
His pants fall to his feet, he steps out of them, out of his shoes and socks and now he’s just in his briefs. The outline of his cock is completely visible, long and thick and curving up toward the band, barely contained. Through the thin fabric I can see everything, including the faint marks of his piercing.
Probably not a Prince Albert, I think to myself and wonder if I’ll be telling Naomi later. Maybe.
Then he pulls the briefs down, tosses them to the side and stands there with his cock out and I’m…I’m…
Terrified.
It’s so oddly alien, even after seeing a million cocks, both wonderful ones from online porn and shitty ones from unsolicited dick picks. It’s also massive. I don’t have a lot of experience to measure it to, obviously, but either my vibrator is shyly modest or Laz has one fucking huge cock.
And right at the end, along the ridge, near the swollen dark tip, are two barbells, two rungs of a Jacob’s ladder. Am I crazy for being relieved he only has two? I’m not sure my virginity could handle his cock, let alone one lined with metal.
“That’s not going to fit,” I blurt out.
He lets out a hoarse laugh. “I’ll make sure it does. Now, are you going to need a bowl of popcorn for the show or do you want to get naked too?”
I grin at him, my heart alternating between tight squeezes and low dips, like it’s on a rollercoaster ride inside my chest. My feelings are all over the place, I’m staring at a very raw, very beautiful, very formidable naked Laz, and now I’m expected to get naked. I barely even look at myself naked in the mirror when I’m at home alone.
“Just a minute,” I tell him, turning around to have the glass of champagne. I gulp it down, the bubbles going up my nose, feeling as fizzy as my brain.
Laz has closed the gap between us by the time I’ve turned around.
I can’t even react. This big naked man is right up against me, one hand disappearing into my hair. He kisses me, softly, sweetly, enough so that all my worries and hang-ups start to melt, like an ice cream cone in the sun. I’m dripping into his hands, his touch, his lips.
While our kiss deepens, our tongues moving harder yet slower and then faster against each other, his large hands slip to my shoulders, palming them briefly before running the straps down. They reach around, pushing down the back of my dress, undoing my bra.
I know what he’s doing and I couldn’t appreciate it more. He’s removing my bra without removing my dress. He knows what makes me feel more comfortable.
He pulls my bra out, the straps briefly getting tangled before he throws it on the armchair.
He kisses every bare inch of skin. Neck, collarbone, shoulders, arms, the swells of my breasts. My nipples harden underneath the fabric as his fingers brush past them teasingly. My breath hitches in my throat, needing more from him, wanting more, yet being afraid of getting it.
He drops to his knees. My hands go to his hair, wrapping his locks around my fingers and holding tight because if I don’t, I’ll fall right over.
I peer down at him, stealing a look, watching the muscles in his back move, the tattoos he has back there. I see words I can’t read etched below his shoulder blades.
His head goes back as he stares up at me with an open, wanting expression. His hands trail up my calves, up my thighs, going under my dress and rising up, up, up, his palm shooting electricity into my skin. His eyes never leave mine.
I’m holding my breath. I don’t care. How could anyone breathe through this? I’m afraid if I exhale, everything might blow away, dissolving like a dream.
This is Laz.
On his knees.
Looking up at me like I’m his place of worship.
No matter what happens, don’t forget this. Don’t forget this.
His fingers keep going up the outside of my thighs, wrapping around the lacy edge of my underwear.
He pulls them down, slowly, inch by inch. Even the silky fabric brushing down against my inner thighs makes my body shiver.
I lean into him, step out of them. Slip off my heels.
“Get on the bed,” he says thickly. “On your back.”
