Tenure

37. James

37

James

She wanders around the apartment touching my things while I make us each an old fashioned. It’s distracting. Images of her in my shower and on my bed flood my brain, miraculously giving me yet another semi. At this rate, I must be at risk of brain damage from the lack of blood supply properly circulating anywhere but to my dick.

I’m feeling a bit raw. I know I’m being fucking stupid by outing us so casually, and for someone who usually takes six months to call a woman back and a year before I learn her last name I’m moving at warp speed. I rarely allow women in my apartment. I’ve never been partial to sharing my personal space. I’ve spent more time with Kiernan this week than I’ve spent with any one woman in the past decade. And like a fucking twelve-year-old, I asked her to be my girlfriend.

I cringe just thinking about it but can’t ignore the embarrassingly fuzzy feeling in my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a good day.

She’s staring at the big canvas on the back wall with a frown as I hand her her drink. She takes a sip without looking and then winces, making a face and glaring at the glass.

“It’ll grow on you,” I say.

She has another sip and openly cringes. “I like wine better.” But she looks back up at the canvas.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.

“Nothing, I guess.”

I grin. “What a glowing recommendation.”

“It’s just not you. None of this stuff is.”

I glance around at the apartment. It’s all glass and chrome, sleek low furniture, lots of white, neutral and nonoffensive, and I shrug.

“Decorator bought it all,” I say.

“Oh, good. So, I can openly say how hideous this is? It looks like a baby threw a jar of squash at your wall.”

I chuckle. “First of all, you can openly say anything. Always. And second of all, thank you very much for that because now it’s all I can see.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“It’s just an apartment. As long as it’s clean and quiet I really don’t care.”

She frowns. “But there should be something in here that’s got some personality. This place is so . . . clinical.”

“Pick something then.”

“What?”

I pluck the glass from her hand and down it in one sip, before downing my own and putting both of them on the table.

“We can go shopping tomorrow. Pick something you like.”

“It’s not about what I like. It’s about what you like.”

“We’ll go shopping and find something I like then,” I say, brushing her hair off her neck and pulling her forward. She’s definitely got some bruises but they’re subtle, nothing you’d notice unless you were looking for them.

I trace them with my fingertips.

“I’m sorry I was so rough,” I say.

She looks up at me, leaning into my touch. “I liked it,” she says.

“It won’t always be like that. I was just desperate.”

“You don’t round your edges for anyone, James. I wouldn’t suddenly expect you to in bed.”

I reach out and grip the lapels of her leather jacket, pushing it off her shoulders and exposing her bare arms.

“Turn around.”

She does and I grab the zipper, slowly sliding it down her back, goosebumps rising on her skin. As it splits open I slide it down her upper arms, and she pulls them in so I can get her arms out of the sleeves. It slides down her body, falling at her feet, and she steps gracefully out of it, looking back over her shoulder at me but not turning around. All she’s wearing is a simple black thong, and I’d close my eyes in thanks if I could get myself to look away. I run my hand over her ass, pink from the spanking in the car, and she whimpers a little.

“Sore?” I ask. Jesus, James, take it easier on her.

But she turns around and grabs the back of my head, yanking me to her mouth and kissing me like the world is about to end.

I stumble back in surprise, her mouth hard and hot and her tongue everywhere, her hands fumbling with my belt and fly. She’s stumbling, she hasn’t undone a man’s pants before, so I reach down and help her out and her fingers clench the hem of my sweater instead, trying to yank it upwards.

“Patience, Kiernan. One clothing article at a time, here.”

I drop my pants and then she scrambles with my sweater, yanking it up over my head, but she’s not tall enough and it gets stuck, my arms tangled.

I laugh as I finish pulling it off at the same time as she yanks my boxers down, and as soon as I’m free she’s got one hand on my cock and the other back in my hair, her mouth frantic on mine.

I grip her ass and hoist her up around my waist, carrying her over to the couch. I sit down, shifting my hands to her thighs as she’s split open on my lap. I reach up and cup her breast, her lips parting as she looks down at where I’m touching her, cheeks pink. Blushing, always blushing.

“Does that feel good?”

She nods.

“Say it.”

“It feels good.”

I slide my hand over her ribs and her hip, thumb digging into her flesh as I squeeze. Then I place my other hand on her hip as well, and gently ease her forward towards my cock.

“Get on,” I say gently.

She sits up and puts her hands on the back of the couch, face close to mine, shimmying forward and raising her hips a little. I give them an encouraging squeeze, but she hesitates, sucking in her lower lip, her fingers drumming the back of the couch.

Nerves.

I grip her harder and she starts to pant, but I force her hips forward and lift my own, pressing my shaft to her slit. She’s soaked, soaked enough that my cock is drenched just from bumping up against her.

“Get. On.”

She hides her face in my neck but takes a deep breath, shifting around a little until she feels the head of my dick against her entrance. Her chest starts to heave against mine, her breath loud in my ear, legs quivering against my sides.

“Just fucking do it, Kiernan,” I hiss.

And she lowers herself onto me by an inch.

“Fuck,” I grit out.

She moans, sounding pained, as she slides down another inch.

“Kiernan, hurry up,” I mutter, sweat blooming across the back of my neck.

“I’m sore!” she whimpers. “Give me a minute. This is a LOT.”

I blink, rocketed by a full-blown wave of shock at the reminder that she has literally only ever had sex one other time, and even an experienced woman would be feeling it for days, the way I fucking gave it to her . . .

“Hey,” I say gently, wrapping my hand around her cheek and ear and pushing her up so we’re forehead to forehead. Her eyes are huge, her face exposed, pleasure and pain scrawled all over it. I kiss her soft and sweet. “I’m sorry for this,” I whisper.

And then I pull her hips down hard, shoving my cock into her to the hilt.