Page 18

My words die away and he doesn’t move, he just stands in the middle of his cabin, barely looking at me. At least he hasn’t thrown me out, so that’s something.

The record stops, another disc falls into place, and a new song starts up.

It’s a soulful number. He’s still standing there, and it’s now or never, so I rise, and swallowing the nervousness and fear that threaten to send me fleeing out the door, I slowly walk over to him.

I reach out and touch his chest, and he turns his head away but he doesn’t stop me.

I need to relieve this ache in my chest, the one I have when he’s close to me, the one that makes me feel like it might burst through my ribcage.

“Dance with me?” I whisper.

He hesitates for a second then slowly reaches for my hip and pulls me close.

He begins to sway his hips in time to the slow soulful music, and I move with him, letting myself go with the flow.

Feeling bold, I slip my fingers under his T-shirt and hear a sharp intake of breath as I touch his skin.

I look at him, and this time he’s gazing down at me, his eyes heavy with lust like he wants this too.

When he tugs my T-shirt up, I lift my arms for him to pull it off, then his large warm hands are on my skin, on my back and hips, and we gyrate in unison to the music.

He leads me into a slow spin away from him, and then when I return his thigh slips between my legs.

The friction as we shimmy makes me hard and I press myself closer to him.

Lowering his head, he gently kisses my shoulder, and the soft warm touch of his lips makes my skin flutter like a thousand butterflies taking flight.

He pulls off his T-shirt and I run my fingers over his broad chest, mapping out the contours like I’ve only dreamt about. I raise my head. I want to kiss him. I want to know what it feels like to kiss, to be kissed. His lips meet mine. It’s soft and slow but with an undercurrent of need and desire.

My stomach swoops and I love it.

I feel his tongue and I open up, wanting to taste him as he explores my mouth.

He tastes of the sea and summer and forbidden dreams. Breathlessly I pull back and look up at his dark brown eyes.

I’ve never felt anything like this before.

A small smile plays along his lips, and his eyes are alight as if he’s looking at something incredible but unexpected.

He can’t think that of me, can he? I’m sure Johnny could have anyone in the world if he wanted them.

I entwine my fingers in his hair and pull his head back down.

If this is the only chance I get to kiss him, I want to make the most of it.

It’s even better the second time—deeper, more urgent.

He runs his hand over my arse before lifting my leg, making the contact with his thigh even stronger.

I can’t help the small moan that escapes at the increase of pressure, and his response is to grip me tighter.

We still kiss and gyrate to the music, barely noticing when the song changes again. Then he pulls back slowly.

“Please don’t stop,” I whisper, and concern flickers across his face.

“Are you sure?” His voice is rich and low, and full of dark desire.

“Yes.” It comes out breathless and needy. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

He cups my arse and effortlessly picks me up, then he carries me over to the bed and lays me down gently. Climbing onto the bed, he covers my body with his, resting his elbows on either side of my head as we kiss again slowly. This time when he breaks off he has a little smile.

“What’s your real name, Baby?”

“Francis.”

His smile widens as he repeats it.

“Francis, I like it.”

I muse on how much I like the way it sounds when he says it as he smothers me with another kiss.

I run my hands over his shoulders and down his back as he kisses my neck, and my shoulder, working his way down my chest. His tongue on the hard bud of my nipple elicits a moan, which surprises me. I had no idea that would feel so good.

“You like that?” he asks, licking and sucking on the other side, and I groan again in answer. He keeps on covering every inch of my torso in kisses, working lower until he reaches the waistband of my jeans. No longer feeling his lips on my skin, I glance at him, and he’s looking up my body at me.

“Have you ever been with a man before?”

“I’ve never been with anyone,” I reply, then a twinge of anxiety asserts itself. “Is that a problem?”

“Not for me. We’ll go slowly, but if you want me to stop just say so, alright?”

“Okay.” I can’t say anymore because my brain kicks in that this is happening.

I thought if I was lucky, I might meet someone at uni.

But this is so much better. There’s no way I’ll be saying no.

I want to experience it all. Johnny gets off the bed and rummages in a drawer for a minute before returning with a pot and what looks like a condom packet.

He chucks them onto the bed and then unbuttons his jeans and slips them off.

I’m treated to a view of his muscular thighs, which I’d admired on the beach a few days ago.

Then he strips off his boxer briefs and I catch sight of his cock.

I can’t help but stare at it. I’ve not seen many dicks before, and never contemplated any except my own, which is fine, I guess—nothing special.

His is as beautiful as the rest of him. Erect and jutting out proudly, I can see every vein along its impressive length and a sheen of precum glistening on the angry-looking head.

I have an overwhelming urge to lick it, to know what it tastes like, feel the weight of it on my tongue.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks, and I realise I’ve been caught staring. I reluctantly drag my eyes from his dick and look at his face where he’s wearing a cocky smirk.

“Very much so,” I reply, wondering if he’d let me suck him off. He chuckles and kneels back on the bed, settling between my legs. I guess swallowing down his cock isn’t on the cards right now .

“Remember we can stop at any point.”

My own cock is already hard and aching, so I don’t think that will be likely. But he doesn’t continue, so he must need an answer.

“Of course,” I say and he nods. I breathe a little sigh when his hands return to my skin, as if my body already remembers what his touch feels like and has been starved of it. He undoes my jeans and pulls them down. I wriggle out of them.

“Jesus Christ, Francis.” I look up and Johnny is staring down at me . . . in my pink lace knickers.

I quickly cover as much of myself as I can with my hands, squirming in embarrassment.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t have time to change them after the dance.”

Johnny takes hold of my wrists and pulls my hands away from my groin. I still squirm a little, ashamed he can still see me.

“Do you mean to tell me that when we were dancing earlier, you were wearing these?” The richness to his voice is back, and it sounds like black velvet.

“Yes.” It comes out as a strangled whisper.

“I’m glad I didn’t know. I might not have been able to dance properly with a boner.”

“Y-You like them?”

He lets go of my wrists and traces his fingers over the lace patterning.

“You in lace knickers is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. ”

His touch is feather light as he runs his hands over them. I already like how they feel against my skin, but with his hands on them as well, it’s divine. It feels special, and I stretch a little and push into his touch.

“Turn over,” he says, and I twist until I’m lying on my front.

He takes hold of my hips and guides me into kneeling on all fours.

He runs his hands over my arse, smoothing over the lace.

His hot breath heats my skin beneath the material as he slowly starts kissing me, working his way across my arse cheeks, alternating between grazing them with his lips and tonguing at them.

The hot dampness of the knickers feels deliciously wicked, and I wiggle a little, craving more.

I’m so caught up with need, whilst a part of my brain is delightfully scandalised by the very idea of being on my knees waving my behind in another man’s face and loving it, that when he strokes my cock the surprise makes me jerk backwards and push myself further into his face.

His tongue runs along my crack and I’ve never felt anything like it.

I push back again, desperate for him to do it again. The sensation disappears.

“These are going to have to come off,” he growls, and tugs the knickers down to my knees.

Then his tongue is back, licking down my crease and tracing round my hole.

It’s exquisite, and my brain turns to liquid as I can’t focus on anything but the sensation of the warm and wet pressure at my entrance.

My cock, now freed from the confines of the knickers, aches to be touched. I support myself on one arm and reach for it, sighing as the pressure from my hand gives a slight amount of relief.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Johnny says, sitting back and batting my hand away. “Lean forward.” His hand on my back pushes me down, and I lower myself onto my forearms. I’m vaguely aware of the music changing again, and I recognise Soloman Burke’s “Cry to Me. ”

I hear the sound of the pot opening, and then a few seconds later feel a light cold touch near my hole. I flinch involuntarily.

“Just relax,” Johnny whispers, and I try. This isn’t like it was with his tongue—it’s harder, his finger—and after circling my entrance a few times he slowly pushes in. Discomfort blooms round my hole.

“Oh,” I squeak and he stops.

“Too much?”

“No, no. It was just a surprise.” I take a deep breath and release it slowly.

The discomfort is still there but it’s peripheral to the wonderful sensation of being filled.

I want more of that. “More, please,” I say, and I hear a chuckle as he slides his finger further inside me.

It feels so good and I relax into it as he glides in and out.

All the while his other hand is soothing up and down my back.

“Can you take more?”

“Yeah,” I hum softly. Right now I’d try and take a rocket if he asked it of me.

I want it all. I don’t want this gloriously full feeling to end.

He adds another finger and works them in and out of me, then it changes again so I think he adds a third.

It’s so divine that I start to move myself, pushing back on his hand, wanting to feel him deeper.

“Please, please, more.” It sounds like a whine but I don’t think I’m above begging at this point.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Almost ready,” he croons, his dark velvet voice traveling straight to my balls, and I hope I don’t come before I get a chance to feel him inside me.

After a couple more minutes he slides his fingers out completely, and I almost mourn their loss as I feel my hole wanting to grip thin air.

It only takes a minute for him to tear open the packet, and then I feel him position behind me.

He nudges at my hole and I impatiently push backwards as he breaches me.

I gasp in a breath and he stops. I breathe out slowly.

“Francis?” His use of my proper name sounds like more than a casual query. It wraps around my heart, enveloping it in reverence.

“I’m okay,” I reply and he pushes forward slowly. I keep breathing, focussing on staying relaxed. Once he’s bottomed out he pauses for a minute, and then slowly starts rolling his hips. It’s both wonderful and stings slightly, and one is very much worth the other.

He moans deeply and picks up the pace, and I drop my head onto the bed, unable to do anything except enjoy him slamming into me.

I can hear the soulful music still, as a backdrop to his breathy grunts and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

I start to see stars, and his fingers digging into my hips are the only things keeping me grounded.

Tingling starts in my lower spine, building, and I know I’m close.

I reach for my cock again and this time he whispers encouragement.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me. You feel so good. I want to feel you come.”

His words do the trick and I spill all over my hand, the biggest orgasm I’ve ever had.

It doesn’t seem to stop, and I keep on coming, and all the while he’s ramming into me.

Then he jerks, his hips snapping forward, and I feel him come too.

When he shudders to a stop he leans forward, almost plastering himself to my back, and kisses between my shoulders.

I wince slightly as he withdraws from me, and I hear a whispered sorry, but I chuckle slightly as he has nothing to be sorry for.

All I can do is collapse bonelessly onto the bed.

He lies down next to me and his gorgeous face slowly comes into focus.

I grin in what must be an inane way, deliriously high from my orgasm.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Just don’t ask me to dance,” I reply. “I wouldn’t even be able to walk right now.” I drift off to the sound of him laughing softly.