She loops her arm around me and nestles close, her face against my chest. The room is quiet, I can still hear her accelerated breaths, and I run my fingers over her tangled hair, again and again, hoping to soothe.

“That was …” Her voice drifts off.

“Good? Okay? So-so?”

Chelsea giggles and presses a kiss to my chest. “It was wonderful and you know it.”

“Glad to hear it.” My cock is throbbing, reminding me it has needs too, but I tell the greedy bastard to back off.

“But what about you? Don’t you want to …”

“Come? Not tonight, Chels. Tonight is all about you.” I kiss her forehead again, needing her to know how much she matters to me though I’m not sure how I can put it into words.

So I remain quiet, just holding her, trying to calm my racing heart, enjoying the blankness that still lingers in my brain. I could go to sleep like this.

If a certain naked Chelsea would stop wiggling against me.

“But aren’t you …”

I love how she can’t come right out and say it. It’s kind of cute. “Hard? Hell yeah. You want to feel it?”

“No!” She pauses, and I muffle a laugh. “Yes,” she says shyly. “I do. Really.”

“Then go for it.” I pull away from her slightly so I’m lying on my back, practically daring her to make a grab. I remove my arm from beneath her and fold both arms behind my head, going for casual, easygoing nothingness.

Inside, though, my nerves are rioting. My body’s screaming for her to touch me. I doubt she’ll work up the nerve.

Chelsea

There’s no way after what he gave me that I’m not going to give him something in return.

My body is still a shuddery, limp mess. I’ve never been very comfortable touching my body. I’ve read books that have given me pleasurable tingles between my legs and I’d try a few times to touch myself there, but I never was really comfortable with it.

I’ve lived such a sheltered life. Parents who never talked about sex but a father who was out screwing every woman he could find. The contradiction there is a psychiatrist’s dream, I’m sure.

I’ve read enough and watched enough TV and movies to know that sex can be amazing. Can feel so good. Usually it just scared me. Not with Owen, though. And the way he just touched me … God.

That had been amazing.

He thinks I’m not going to touch him in return, though. I can tell by the teasing tone of his voice, the smug look as he flops flat on his back, his arms behind his head, a little smirk on his face.

I prop myself up on my elbow and study him. Starting with his strong, muscular neck, his firm collarbone, his beautiful chest. His nipples are flat, brown, and small and his tanned skin is stretched taut over solid, beautifully shaped muscle. His stomach is ridged and flat, that dark brown trail of hair leading from his navel toward his erection fascinating. Without thought I reach out, drag my finger through the downy soft hair. Following down, down, until I brush against his erection.

It twitches and moves beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs, and I draw my hand back as if it just tried to bite me.

Owen laughs, and I turn a murderous glare on him. “Don’t make fun,” I say, my voice prim.

“Ah, Chels. Never. You’re just too cute.” He cups my cheek, his thumb gliding over my skin. “You’ve never touched a guy like this before, have you?”

“No.” I feel silly, being so inexperienced, and I shouldn’t beat myself up over it. When would I ever get a chance to do something like this? I’ve been alone and socially awkward most of my teenage years. Boys never paid attention to me.

Now I have the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met lying in a bed with me, telling me I’m beautiful, kissing me, bringing me to orgasm with his fingers.

It’s a pretty heady feeling.

“Let’s free the beast.” He starts to tug down his underwear and I laugh at him calling it a beast, then help him, my hands brushing against his firm thighs, his knees, his hairy calves. Until his underwear is around his ankles and he’s kicking them off onto the floor. Naked and bare before me, he resumes his casual position, and all I can do is stare.

I gaze at his erection, fascinated with the shape, the way it arcs toward his stomach. It’s thick and veiny, the head plum-shaped, and a bit of creamy liquid leaks from the tip.

I wrap my fingers around the length of him, marveling at how small my hand looks. He’s big, not outrageously scary or anything, but nothing small either, and I remember how uncomfortable it had felt at first when he slipped his finger inside me.

And supposedly he could push that thing inside me? My body clenches tight just thinking about it.

“You going to hold it or do something with it?” His voice is strained, and he sounds like he’s almost in pain.

“What do you want me to do?”

He reaches out and grips my hand with his, squeezing his erection, showing me how he likes it. He handles himself roughly, tugging and pulling, and I follow his lead, reaching down to caress his balls because you know, I’ve gone this far, so …

Why not?

“Jesus. Just like that,” he encourages, removing his hand from the top of mine, and then I’m on my own. Stroking him hard, then touching him soft. Trying my best to drive him crazy the way he just drove me out of my mind. I trace the distended veins, mapping them with my fingertip. He trembles beneath my touch, his entire body tense, sweat forming on his skin. I can smell him. I want to taste him.

He likes it. I like it. I wish I had the nerve to draw him into my mouth, lick the tip of his erection with my tongue. I want to, but what if I do it wrong? What if I somehow screw it up and he ends up laughing at me?

I don’t know if I could ever recover from that.

“There’s no textbook on how to touch my cock, Chels.”

His words, specifically the use of one particular word, make my entire face burn, especially when he’s so close to figuring out what’s running through my mind. I just flat-out don’t know what to do or how to do it.

“What if I mess up?” I ask, my voice a mere whisper.

“Baby. You touch me and I love it.” What I’m loving is how he just called me baby. “Just do it. Touch me. I’m so close to exploding, I’ll probably come all over your fingers within seconds, so be prepared.”

Um. Wow. He’s just so matter-of-fact about it. I wish I could be the same.

I hold him in my grip and start to move, stroking up and down, squeezing and releasing. He grabs my chin and lifts my face to his, kissing me until I can’t breathe. I’m surrounded by him, can feel him all around me, his mouth on mine, his tongue tangled around mine. I’m stroking him, his hips are thrusting, his other hand comes down and shows me exactly how he likes it again and then he wrenches his mouth from mine, panting hard. I open my eyes, see the agony written all over his handsome face.

“Fuck. Chels, I’m gonna—”

And then he’s coming all over my fingers, just like he said. My fist is slick and wet, and I watch with fascination as he falls apart right before me. Just like I fell apart right before him.

It’s so intimate, so beautiful, that I’m stunned. I just shared something amazing with Owen. Something I’ve never done before with anyone else. I don’t know what to say, how to react.

So I follow his lead. We both go to the bathroom to clean up in the dark so we don’t have to see each other naked in the harsh lights. I think he knows I’m a little mind-blown and still feeling shy, despite what just happened between us. He pulls me to him after I wash my hands, kissing me so softly, so sweetly I melt into him, our naked chests meeting and making my heart pick up speed.

“We need to go to sleep,” he whispers against my lips.

I nod. “I want to leave early. I need to get back home so I can turn in that paper.”

“Always the conscientious student.” He kisses the tip of my nose and takes my hand, leading me from the bathroom toward the bed. “Come on, Chels. I’ll tuck you in.”