When we got into my room, he moved to the foot of my bed.  His jeans were still undone, but he’d tucked himself away, and as I watched, he zipped and buttoned them closed.  After seeing him bare, I wondered how he even fit into his pants.

“Take off your shorts,” he told me softly, eyes on my large, trembling breasts.  “And come here.”

I tried to do both at the same time, fumbling at the button of my cutoffs and moving to stand between his sprawling legs.

With a moan he started sucking at one of my nipples, his hands going to help me.

“I’m not ready to go all the way,” I told him breathlessly.  I didn’t want him to think I was a tease.

Well, at least not a tease that wasn’t being honest with him.

“I know, angel,” he said with his lips still on me.  “I just want to touch you, okay?  I want to take care of you like you took care of me.”

I moaned and wiggled out of my shorts, but I left my panties on because I couldn’t imagine getting naked in front of him just like that.

He left them on, his fingers playing with my sex first over the material, and then he was pulling it aside and pushing into me.

I gasped.  It was such a shocking sensation that I couldn’t imagine ever getting used to it.

He didn’t seem to notice my reluctance, his whole being concentrated on feeling me with his fingers.

“Jesus, you’re so wet,” he groaned into my chest.

My knees were going weak as what he was doing to me started an ache inside of me that I didn’t know how to relieve.

“I want to lie down,” I told him.

He moaned and I crawled onto the bed.  When I was on my back, he started pulling down my panties.

I stopped him, I don’t even know why, instinctually, I suppose, but he just paused, bent, and started sucking on my nipple, then began to pull them down again.

When he had me completely naked, he sat up at my hip and started playing with me again, his eyes intent on what he was doing.

I squirmed.  I needed something, I wasn’t sure what, but he wasn’t doing it.  He was jerking his finger in and out of me, his breath ragged, his eyes looking like he was about to lose it again.

“It’s too much,” I told him.  “The pressure’s too much.”

His hand froze.  “What should I do?” he asked, looking as lost as I was.

“It just . . . hurts.  Your finger’s too big.”

He looked horrified.  “My finger’s too big?”

I thought about this.  “That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

Something happened to his face, it fell and lifted as a shudder wracked through him.  “Jesus.”  He pulled his finger out of me with a curse.  “Fuck.  I need to go to the bathroom again.”

I sat up and stayed him with my hand.  “Don’t.  Stay here.  I want to see.”

“I don’t want to freak you out.”

“Do you do that every time after we . . . make out and stuff?”

His mouth twisted into a sheepish smile, and he couldn’t look me in the eye.  “Every time.  At least once.  Hell, at least twice.”

My eyes widened.  “How long’s that been going on?”

“You don’t even want to know.”

I kind of did, but I dropped it as his hands went to the button of his pants.

“What should I do?” I asked him as he rose and shed his jeans.

He tilted his head down to give me an amused look.  “Honestly?  You could do anything and it’d work for me.  Just sit there and watch me if you want.”

I shook my head.  He wasn’t getting it.  “I want to do it.  I want to get you off myself.”

His eyes closed and his head fell back.  “Jesus.  You’re going to kill me today, aren’t you?”

I grinned.  It was like nothing else, the power I felt at how desperately he wanted me.

I lay back down on my back and feeling daring I spread my legs apart.  “Come lay on top of me,” I told him breathlessly.  “We can feel each other while I . . .“

“Jack me off,” he said gruffly, climbing between my legs.  “Say it.”

“Jack you off.”  He went a little wild kissing me for that.

He had to get up briefly to grab lotion, and we got a little carried away.

It started with my hand, but as our bodies rubbed together his tip was brushing against my sex, then pushing at it.  I moved him with my hand so he could rub along me without going in.

I would have let him go all the way, in fact a part of me desperately wanted it.  Just wanted to say screw it and have each other completely.

But I didn’t.  My grandmother had ingrained in me too deeply the fact that as soon as you gave yourself to a man he wouldn’t want you anymore.

And more than any other thing I needed in my life to survive, I needed Dante to want me.  To crave me.  To love and adore me.

I was obsessed with keeping him obsessed.

As we rubbed against each other, I found just the spot where the ache came from, and I took the softest part of his blunt tip and started rubbing it there in clumsy movements, then in little circles as I got the lay of it.

Dante didn’t last five seconds like that, his tip mashed up against my mound.

He came again with a rough curse and I loved it.  Loved making him lose his control and his mind.

He was panting over me, his eyes on where we were touching.  He braced himself with one fist on the mattress, the other going down to my hand on him.  He was still coming as he fisted his cock and shifted it to my entrance.  With a groan, he butted up against it.

I held my breath.  If he’s going to do it, I decided, I’m not going to stop him.

He groaned and pushed in just the barest amount, the very tip of him invading me.

But he stopped himself, and with a curse, rolled off me.

I stayed where I was, flat on my back.  The ache inside of me had become so powerful that I couldn’t stop shifting my hips.

“Try your fingers on me again,” I told him.

He sat up and started petting me with his hand, different now, focusing on the area around my entrance instead of just invading.

I showed him the spot I’d discovered.  “There,” I told him, pressing his finger to it.

He bit his lip and applied himself to the task with utmost concentration.  “Softer,” I panted at him.  He changed his touch, lightened it.

“Mmm, that,” I sighed, closing my eyes.

Before long, I had both heels on the bed as I moved against his hand.

He pushed the finger of his other hand inside of me, and this time it was better.  This time I wanted it to move.

“Can I go deeper?” he asked hoarsely.

“No,” I gasped.  “Just keep doing that.  Move it.  Just like that.”

I felt I was getting close to something when he seemed to lose it again.

I glanced down at his lap.  I hadn’t even realized he could, but he was coming again, jerking into the air.

I hadn’t even had to touch him.  He was coming just from touching me.  I reached a hand out, stroking him, feeling it with him, as though with touch I could own his orgasm for myself.

And as he came, and came, he got careless with his hands, jerking his finger harder and deeper inside of me.  With a stifled cry, he shoved it in to his knuckle.

I jerked, my eyes shutting tight in pain.  “Dante!” My voice was an embarrassing yelp.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he panted, and he sounded it.  “I didn’t even know I could do that.  My fingers are too big.  Jesus.  I’m sorry.”

I glanced down as he pulled his finger out of me.  It was bloody.

I closed my legs and turned away.  “I’m not supposed to start my period,” I told him, mortified.  “I don’t know what happened.”

He started kissing my back and stroking me like a cat.  “That wasn’t your period.  Jesus.  I’m sorry.  I broke your barrier.  Your hymen.  I didn’t mean to, I swear.  I thought it would only break when we had sex.  Did I hurt you?”

“A little bit.  Nothing major.  It just surprised me.”

His breath was getting heavier near my ear.  “Can I look?  Are you too sore for me to keep trying?  I want to look at you.  I want to get you off.”