13. CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

“How you’re looking at me, I know what it means, and I’m obsessed”

Bed Chem – Sabrina Carpenter

Nathalie

I ’m going to fuck Deon Adams.

It’s my only thought as I grind against him, chasing the euphoria building in my veins. His lips crash against mine, fist wrapped around my hair as he consumes me whole. His free hand drops to my hip, and he begins to guide my movements, pulling me back and forth over his cock that strains for freedom beneath his costume. The pressure in my core continues to compound, and for the first time, I think I might come without battery-operated assistance.

It’s never happened without hard work and my trusty vibrator and the men I’ve been with grew tired of trying or were offended when I brought out a toy as if it was a direct hit to their masculinity.

As long as Deon continues to do exactly what he’s doing, it might happen.

A fiery make-out session with Deon, and I’m the closest I’ve ever come to an orgasm with a man, and all my clothes are still on. It’s even more shocking given the alcohol I’ve consumed, which only makes it harder to come.

His grip on my waist tightens before slowly moving northward, my costume riding up and leaving my stomach bare. His erection presses between my thighs, and my stomach bottoms out at the size of him.

My hands glide down his shoulders, along the panes of his torso toward his waistband, when his hand covers mine, stopping me.

Deon breaks the kiss, chest heaving. His pupils are blown as his thumb swipes against my abdomen.

“If we do this,” Deon starts. He means when we do this. “It’s only sex. Nothing more.”

I nod in understanding.

“No feelings,” I confirm. It’s not worth explaining all the sex I’ve had is the ‘no feelings’ kind of sex. The only difference between those times and now is a sliver of a chance I might orgasm and enjoy the experience. “Now, are you going to take my clothes off, or do I need to do it myself?”

My brain hasn’t caught up with reality yet, but as his fingers deftly unravel the laces of my costume, my vagina hums in anticipation. She’s gone far too long without a romp in the sheets. Using toys is nice in a pinch, but I enjoy having sex with someone .

Half the fun is the build-up. The lingering touches. The heated gazes. The make-out session that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

Something shifted with Deon’s claiming kiss in Maren’s kitchen. He walked out the door and into the backyard, and in an instant, the attractive yet off-limits friend in my head morphed into someone I would have zero qualms about jumping into the sheets with, even with his ban on love.

The kiss in the kitchen was the first where he led. It was full of purpose and promise, and it left me desperate for more. Sawyer and Maren were relentless in their teasing, and I had to pretend it was planned.

None of this is a part of our plan, but the plan can burn in Hell for all I care as long as he continues to touch me.

Deon clutches the hem of my top, and I lift my arms. He discards the clothing without a second glance, and his gaze darkens as he intently watches the way my breasts rise and fall.

No one has ever looked at me this way before.

I reach between my shoulder blades, unclasp the lacy black bra, and shrug it from my shoulders. We need to get this show on the road, and he is not undressing quickly enough.

“If you don’t start undressing, I’ll go to my room and get myself off with my vibrator.”

My threat hangs in the air before Deon rips his shirt over his head, revealing the glorious corded muscle evidence of his dedication to football. I place a hot, languid kiss on his sternum, and Deon groans, the sound tumbling through the apartment.

His pleasure strikes my core, and I rise from his lap, shimmying off my pants, leaving me bare but for my black lace panties .

I almost wore my old, stained period underwear because they’re comfortable, and I have never been so happy with a past decision as I am right now, especially with how he watches me.

“Holy shit.” Deon rubs a palm over his face as he leans back on the couch. “Spin for me,” he demands, voice husky and low.

His finger twirls, mimicking the motion, and ever-so-slowly, I circle, revealing how little covers my ass.

“You are fucking magnificent,” he says, each syllable spoken as if his restraint is frayed and he’s barely holding back.

The air whooshes from my lungs at his declaration and the sincerity of it. None of my meaningless hookups have ever stopped to drink me in the way Deon does so now. None of those hookups have set every cell in my body ablaze or spoken words with such desire I can feel it in my toes.

He reaches out, and I step back. His eyes narrow.

“I want to touch you first.”

“Nathalie,” Deon hisses, attempting to rise, but I shove him back and lower to the floor to kneel between his thighs. My fingers tremble as I clutch the waistband of his costume, and he lifts his hips. I’ve never been nervous about sleeping with someone, but right now, butterflies flutter in my chest.

In one swoop, I peel away his pants and boxers. My core hollows out as I come eye to eye with the largest cock I’ve ever seen. That’s not going to fit in my mouth. Or my vagina.

His cock bobs against his stomach, glistening with pre-cum.

It might not fit, but I’m sure as hell going to try. Starting at his knees, I slowly trail my fingernails against his toned thighs, marveling at the way his muscles jump and twitch beneath my touch.

Deon’s fingers tangle in my hair, and before I can chide him, he’s lifting my chin to meet his gaze .

“A-Are you…” he trails off, stumbling over the few words he managed to choke out.

“Going to give you a blowjob?” he nods. “That’s kinda the plan.”

I giggle but quickly sober when I clock the trepidation in his gaze. I lean back on my heels, moving away as far as I can while Deon holds my head in his hands.

“I don’t have to,” I say gently. Maybe it’s not his thing. In my experience, most men enjoy my blowjobs, but maybe Deon’s not that kind of man. “Is something wrong?” His breathing is rapid and shallow as he stares at me with startled eyes. “Do you want to stop?”

“I’ve never…” Deon trails off, a blush creeping on his cheeks.

It takes a beat to register his meaning. No one’s ever given him a blowjob?

My toes curl in anticipation. There is something erotic about knowing I am the woman who gets to give Deon Adams, star quarterback in the NFL, his first blow job.

This might go to my head.

I bite my lip, holding back a smug smile.

“Do you want one?” My tongue darts out, wetting my lips.

“Fuck yes. But I won’t last long,” he admits, embarrassment lacing his words. “And I can’t promise I won’t touch you.”

Grasping him, I slowly work my hand up and down before I lean forward and drag my tongue from the base to the tip.

“Touch me as much as you’d like,” I say before taking him as deeply as I can.

He hits the back of my throat, and I force back a gag, working him deeper as he brushes the hair away from my face, groans tumbling from his lips.

I find a rhythm; my only goal is to give Deon a blowjob experience he will never forget, so I will live forever in his memory as the woman who gave him his first blowjob.

It’s a legacy I’m happy with.

My fingernails drag against his balls, and Deon groans deeply, hands tangling in my hair, his self-restraint crumbling as his fingers tighten around the strands.

I trail my tongue up his shaft, then look up at him beneath hooded lashes.

“Fuck my face,” I demand. His first blow job should be spectacular.

His jaw drops, and he blinks. Once. Twice.

I twirl my tongue around the tip, and his leg twitches again. I push back on my heels, repeating myself. He makes no move to stand, and I raise a brow, silently saying now or never. Deon rises on shaky legs, and I make room for him.

“I’ll tap your thigh if I need to stop.”

Deon is stunned into silence, and it’s a heady feeling knowing it’s because of me. His hips move slowly at first, fingers laced into my hair. The pressure in my core grows as his pace quickens, my breasts shaking as he begins to take his pleasure.

I want him to control this and understand this is a safe space to ask for what he wants.

His movements grow erratic, and I know he’s close. Dragging my nails up the back of his thighs, I squeeze his ass.

He really does have a nice butt. It’s toned and tight and looks glorious in sweatpants.

A loud moan fills the air.

“I’m going to cum,” he says, pausing. I tighten my grip, and he spills into my mouth, pulling at my hair so tightly the pain sends a tingle to my core.

I swallow it all, slowly dragging my lips away. Deon falls to the couch, face flushed from his orgasm. I soak him in. I did that. Gave him that pleasure.

“That was…” His eyebrows rise, “Wow. That was…wow.”

This is 100% going to my head.

His thighs spread as he lounges on the couch like a Greek God of carnal pleasure. The building pressure between my thighs is almost unbearable as I climb into his lap, my underwear drenched as I graze his cock.

I grind against him, desperately seeking my pleasure. This has always taken time for me. I need the build. Deon’s fingers press into my hips, and he flips me onto my back. He hovers over me, the gold chain on his neck dangling in the space between us.

“I want to taste you,” he whispers, “Tease you until you’re begging for release and so desperate to come that you beg .”

My jaw flies open.

He…He…Holy fucking shitballs, Deon Adams likes to talk dirty and fuck me, it’s doing some wild things to my vagina.

Deon presses feathery kisses against my stomach until he’s hovering above the band of my underwear, fingers trailing along the elastic and down my inner thigh to my knee.

He repeats the movement on my other leg until I’m squirming beneath him. Finally , Deon’s fingers tangle with the band as he peels them down my legs.

They drop to the floor, and his hands press against my inner knees, forcing my legs wide. The cool air hits the wetness between my thighs.

Deon drags his tongue along my slit, playfully teasing my clit before backing off. Again and again, he laps at my core, allowing the pleasure to build before he pulls away. My hips jerk upward, and a large palm splays against my lower stomach, increasing the building pressure tenfold.

“Sit still,” Deon murmurs against the sensitive flesh, and when his tongue finally flicks my clit, I ascend to a new plane of existence. My entire body tightens as my muscles seize. He continues his assault, and I can feel it coming, creeping up on me.

I’m going to orgasm. It’s so close.

“To the left,” I moan, praying it doesn’t kill the moment like it has before.

Instead, Deon responds instantly, the pleasure reaching a new level I’ve never experienced before. He drives me to the edge until I’m writhing with pleasure until he’s driving me mad with his tongue as he teases my entrance.

I’m teetering on the edge when Deon stops. I groan in protest.

“I want to hear you beg for me.”

I’m too delirious from his edging to form any other response than “ Please.”

“Please, what?” I scrunch my nose in annoyance, but his breath dances along my skin, and I relent.

“Please make me come.”

“That’s my good girl,” he replies, plunging a finger so deep within me that I clutch the couch cushion to stabilize myself. His tongue matches the tempo of his fingers, and my orgasm creeps closer until it barrels into me like a freight train, the sensation a high I’ve never felt before with another person.

My hips droop, euphoria thrumming through my veins as my vision swims. My chest heaves as I lift my head to find Deon lounging between my thighs with a victorious grin.

I pocket the memory.

My legs are numb as I spread out on the couch, attempting to catch my breath after my first orgasm with a man.

I guess it’s only fair.

I gave him his first blowjob; he gave me my first man-made orgasm.

His smile is blinding as he sits up, padding away naked into his bedroom. He returns with shorts slung around his waist, and I silently thank him for deciding to stop.

I can barely move now. If we fucked there is no way I would be a functional human being for at least a week.

With a gentleness I’ve ever experienced, Deon cleans me up, wiping my skin with a warm washcloth.

This is the first time I’ve ever had any variety of aftercare. I don’t particularly like the way my heart clenches and flips when he touches me with such tenderness.

It’s always been an uneventful fuck followed by a quick goodbye.

He disappears once more, and I take that as my queue to leave. We fooled around, we cleaned up, and now we’re done, and he’s off to bed.

It shouldn’t sting. I shouldn’t let it sting.

It’s only sex.

But instead, Deon returns with clothing in his grip. He slides a t-shirt over my head and grabs a blanket, covering us both as his arms wrap around my shoulders to pull me against his chest.

He says nothing, and any words that form on my tongue fall short.

We irrevocably altered our relationship, and as he draws circles against my skin, It’s difficult to care or to question what’s going to happen now.