First Time for Everything

She perked up on the couch, cheeks burning. "I’ve never… you know. Not once." He nearly dropped his beer. Then a slow grin crept over his face. "So the house is empty, lights are low, and you hand me that on a platter? Careful what you admit to family friends." She buried her face in a cushion but peeked over the rim. He inched closer on the rug, voice dropping into a teasing murmur. "You told me you wanted somebody who knows what he’s doing. Looks like I qualify." Her breath caught, but she didn’t move away. Clothes came off in short, shaky bursts—her T-shirt first, his sweater right after. His hand lingered at the dip of her waist, thumb tracing nervous circles until she giggled and the tension broke. She lay back on the rug, knees folded together, then parted with a deliberate exhale. He dipped between her legs and took his time—pressing open-mouthed kisses up her inner thigh, tasting salt and nerves until she arched toward his tongue. When he licked long and slow, she stuttered his name and clutched the carpet. Fingers followed: one, then two sliding in, curling, coaxing slick sounds while his thumb kept lazy pressure on her clit. Every curl made her hips buck. She went wet fast, urging him on, but he stayed gentle until the tremors started. Her first small orgasm fluttered around his fingers, soft little pulses she hadn’t known to expect. He eased up just enough for her to breathe, then slipped on a condom and hovered over her. "Ready?" "If you stop now, I’m telling your mom." He barked out a laugh and slid inside—slow, thick, an inch at a time—watching her mouth drop open in wonder and want. The rug burned soft against her back. He set a steady, shallow rhythm until her legs wrapped around him, coaxing him deeper. Sweat beaded along his spine; her hands mapped it. When he bottomed out, they both shivered. He pressed the pad of his thumb to her clit again, keeping friction alive as they rocked, faster now, and she came a second time, hips snapping up, voice spilling into the empty rooms. He followed right after—groan bitten against her neck, fingers laced with hers beside her head—until the carpet smelled like skin and satisfaction instead of dust and yesterday.