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“Because you’re fifteen. That’s why.” He rolls to the side, off me and I hate the finality of his words. As if my age is a deciding factor. And it is though. It’s a huge factor for him.
“Can you show me?”
He turns his head toward mine and stares at me in the darkness. “Show you what?”
“How you do it?”
The wildness returns to his eyes. “Only if you’ll touch yourself.”
Licking my lips, I slide my hand into my panties. “Tell me what to do.”
His breathing increases and his open mouth finds my shoulder as he scoots closer, his hand inside the front of his shorts. I can’t see him, down there, but I try. It’s too dark in the room and he still has his shorts on. His hand starts to move up and down, his eyes on mine. “Take your index finger and your middle finger and touch your clit.”
“Okay.” I let out a shaky breath, unsure, but doing what he says. “You do the same thing. Touch yourself.”
Lifting up, he slides his shorts down a couple inches, but still, I can’t see him clearly but I feel the shaking of the bed as he strokes himself with his right hand. “Now make a back-and-forth motion over your clit,” he tells me, barely able to get the words out. His breathing in practically panting, his chest and stomach tense as he’s stroking faster than before.
Wetness coats my fingers as my breathing picks up. It’s not what I’m doing that’s making me squirm with need. It’s watching him stroke himself and hearing the tiny grunts leaving his lips.
I try to do what he’s telling me, but it doesn’t feel the same. “It doesn’t feel like when you touch me.”
Removing his hand from his shorts, he rolls onto his shoulder and toward me, his left hand at my hip and then he’s guiding me, his fingers on mine. “Does that feel good?”
“Yes.” I moan, closing my eyes, my legs tensing as he guides my touch.
His index finger presses down on mine. “Find a steady rhythm that feels good to you. Then keep doing it until it feels even better. Think about how good it’s going to feel when my cock pushes inside you for the first time.”
His erection hits my thigh, and he tenses, helping me move my fingers faster. I blink steadily, trying to relax. “It’s wet and hard to keep my fingers from slipping,” I admit, panting.
He adjusts my finger on my clit higher. “Stroke back and forth faster right here.” I do as he says and his entire frame trembles. “That’s it, baby. There you go.” His mouth sucks on my neck. His tongue, lips, teeth all dedicated to me. He’s breathing so hard in my ear I’m worried about him, but after a few minutes, it happens. I come, my orgasm racking through me in waves, one right after another until I’m left in a jelly state, barely able to catch my breath or move any muscle.
Ender rolls onto his back panting and reaches inside his shorts again. “Holy shit, that’s so hot.” His hand is on his cock and he starts stroking himself faster than before.
Completely enthralled at what he’s doing, I roll to curl into his side, his body shaking. “Do you do this a lot?”
He swallows, grunting as his legs straighten. “Too much probably.” He chuckles, breathless. “I do it any time I think about you…,” he says, turning his head and pressing his lips to mine. “I did it twice the night you came to my game.”
“What did you think about?” My words are uneven and strained.
“That little moan you gave me when I kissed you.” His hand moves faster. “And how badly I want to fuck you.”
The way the words roll off his tongue are so erotic and sexy, I whimper and curl into him. If I had any doubt what he did after I left Atlanta that day, I know now.
Ender groans, his head falling back, and for the first time, I watch Ender bring himself to an orgasm in front of me. He takes his other hand that’s not on his cock and cups the tip, coming into his hand. I assume to keep it controlled; I don’t know for sure. It’s fascinating, erotic, and so much more than I ever imagined it to be. My eyes widen a bit, soaking in every memory as I stare at his body in the darkness.
His eyes find mine and he smirks. “Do you believe me now?”
I shift closer. “About?”
“You’re all I think about.”
I nod, barely able to control the shaking of my body. Ender takes his shirt from beside the bed and wipes his hand off before turning to face me. I stare at him, knowing I’m falling more in love with him every second and I don’t know what to do about it. Loving him scares me because there’s nine months out of the year I don’t have this.
I read this poem once that said don’t play with fire if you’re afraid of the flame.
The fire inside Ender burns hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced, but at the same time, I can’t help myself when I reach out and touch it.
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