GIN AND JUICE pt 9

(BE PREPARED, YOU MIGHT NEED SOME HOLY  WATER AFTER THIS!!!)

The rough texture of the carpet in Shawn’s bedroom curled between your toes. You stood across from him, the bed an ocean of sheets and pillows and ghosts of all the girls he must have slept with before. The nerves crawled everywhere—on your skin, your fingertips, in your belly—your legs quaked with them and caused your vision to cloud slightly. He cleared his throat and your eyes shot up to meet his.

“I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want to do,” he promised, making sure not to leave your eyes, “if we stand here all night and stare at each other, that will be just fine with me.” You shifted your weight from side to side, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. You heard a sharp intake of breath from across the mattress and watched his breathing hitch shallow in his chest. Seeing the effect you had on him gave you a moment’s courage, cracking open the safe that hid your body from the world.

Slowly, you fingered the hem of your sweater and raised it over your head, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on your skin. His eyes raked across your smooth chest, still covered by a simple nude t-shirt bra, and down to your abdomen, savoring the sight of so much skin. The urge to cover yourself with your arms was strong, but at the same time you wanted him to see you—all of you. You wanted him to look and touch and taste everything you had and take what you would freely give him.

It was your turn to clear your throat, startling him back into the here and now. Taking the hint, you stared at him expectantly while he removed his own shirt. The last time you’d seen him shirtless, the weight of the moment had overtaken any enjoyment you might have had in the visual. Touching him for the first time, feeling that electricity, had rendered you temporarily blind and only able to see him through your fingertips. Now, separated, you could really see him. You could get lost in the expanse of pale skin across his torso, fingers itching to trace the hard grooves of muscle. His shoulders rose and fell with every labored breath, a deep red blush blooming on his chest under your scrutiny.

How could he possibly be nervous? He must have slept with dozens of girls. You wondered if he remembered all of them or if some of them, many of them, were submerged in the deep blackness he dove into every weekend. You knew those thoughts were toxic. That thought spiral could take you out of this moment that had brought him to you sober and nervous, like the boy that you’d encountered at the library. The boy in your dorm room pacing. The boy standing in his kitchen who didn’t know what you liked so he ordered a little bit of everything off the menu. The boy standing in front of you panting, okay if you stopped, but desperately hoping you keep going.

You swore he stopped breathing when you popped the button on your jeans and wiggled them down your legs, sliding your socks off with them. Something about seeing you in your underwear must have struck a chord with him because suddenly he was tripping over his own feet to remove his pants, clawing at the zipper and peeling the skinny fit fabric from his legs, until the two of you were both undressed, only a few scraps of fabric separating the unknown from the known. His black boxer briefs seemed much more tailored for this moment compared to your baby pink boyshorts with ladybugs printed on them.

Moving toward the bed, you turned down the covers and crawled between the soft sheets that smelled like Shawn. You avoided his eyes as he continued to mimic your movements, lifting the comforter and sheets on his side and sliding between them, keeping enough distance between you to not be suggestive or forward, still treating you like a frightened animal. Finally, when he stilled, you looked up to find him waiting for you, his head propped up on his fist.

“Shawn, I…” you paused, unsure how to continue without killing the mood, if there was even a mood after the awkward buildup undressing, but you decided that coming out with it was the only way, “I’m a ******.” The nerves threatened your limbs again, fingers tingling, almost numb from the admission that felt like telling an embarrassing secret. He kept his eyes level with yours, seemingly unaffected, “is…is that supposed to scare me?”

“No,” you picked at the pillowcase underneath you, “I just thought you should know that I’ve never done this before and I don’t want you to be disappointed or whatever.” He snuck his hand beneath yours and intertwined your fingers, pulling your attention back to his face, his eyes showing you nothing but honesty, “there is nothing about you that could disappoint me. If we stopped here, I would still fall asleep with a stupid smile on my face. I’m here with you, completely sober, feeling free of expectation and that doesn’t happen to me ever—not with my family, not with my friends, and definitely not with other girls. With you, it’s like all of that melts away and I just want to make you happy and tonight, I just want to make you feel good.”

You gasped quietly at the implication and felt his words pool between your legs. He wanted you and you wanted him. You wanted him so much you could feel his closeness vibrating in your bones. His every breath was a fever pitch. Reaching out, you pulled his face to yours and sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, showing him that you were ready and that you wanted this, wanted more, wanted everything that he was willing to give you. When you separated from him, gasping for air, you just had one more question.

“Will it hurt?”

He took your face between his hands, thumbs caressing your swollen mouth, “probably a little bit, but I’ll try to prepare you as much as I can.” He pressed another soft kiss to your lips and rested his forehead against yours. You reached around him and threaded your fingers in his curls, “you’ll be gentle?”

“So gentle, baby,” he purred in your ear, pulling an involuntary moan from you that made his pupils blow wide. His hands were everywhere then, moving down your neck, fingering the edge of your bra along the smooth skin of your ******, pressing his hand flat along your stomach and sliding it behind you to the hooks that he unclasped with a practiced efficiency. Sliding your bra off and tossing it aside, he looked down at you with an intensity that set a fire in your belly. His fingers moved across one ****** and then the other, avoiding your ******, whispering, “so beautiful,” like a personal mantra. When he finally took the hardened bud into his mouth, your whole body responded to him. Your back arched and his arms came around you, cradling you; your thighs pressed together against the foreign flood unknown to you before him; your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling gently, pushing yourself into him as if he could devour you solely with his mouth.

“Shawn, please,” you breathed, doing your best impression of the romance novels you’d read, “t-touch me.” Still cradling you with one arm behind your back, he slowly made his way across your abdomen, sliding his hand into your panties. His fingers moved and pressed in places that only you had ever explored before, forcing moans and mewls from deep inside your chest, your head thrashing back and forth with the intensity of sharing something so intimate with someone else. You lost track of his mouth, too wrapped up in your own pleasure, your own body’s response to his. You felt him everywhere—Inside you, around you, above you, below you—and no one could touch you here. Is this what it feels like inside his armor?

When the first wave hit you, it beat a fissure into the dam inside your heart that was barely holding on. The second wave, the one that made your legs shake and your vision blur, broke through like a tidal wave, leaving behind only rubble and a jumbled mess of words and moans you couldn’t begin to put together. Your body was languid when he removed his hand from your underwear. He looked down at you with eyes that had darkened, almost black in the low light of his bedroom, and a wide smile, the one that touched his eyes, colored his face, bright white teeth against his rosy, passion-flushed cheeks. You buried your face in your hands, trying to hide your smile, but pulled them away when you felt moisture. You must have cried, overwhelmed by the moment. He dipped his head toward yours and placed a kiss on each of your closed eyes, then on each of your cheeks, and then finally on your lips, stirring the desire inside you again. You looked down and saw him straining against his boxer briefs.

“Oh, Shawn, let me…” you trailed off and cupped him through the fabric, pulling an inhuman sound from him as he gripped your wrist, stilling your movement and locking eyes with you. “If you touch me,” he growled, “I will never make it farther than your hand and I’d rather be inside you.”

You pulled away, still prisoner to his gaze, and placed your hand on his chest, waiting for him to take the lead. Nothing you’d read or heard had prepared you for this moment, the slightly awkward pause between ******** and sex. Your body was still heavy with your ******, as ready as you could be for what was to come. He hadn’t moved. Slipping his hand over yours, he pressed your hand more firmly over his heart, hard enough to feel its quick beating.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you answered, trying hard not to let your voice shake. He needed not only your consent, but your reassurance, that this was still what you wanted. You moved your hand and placed your lips over his heart, whispering against his skin, “I want you so much I can barely breathe.”

“I’ve wanted you since that first night at the party,” he said, his quick blush that night immediately coming to mind. With that confession, he leaned back, digging for a moment in his side drawer and pulling out a foil packet. Holding the condom package between his teeth, he lifted his hips off the mattress and slipped his underwear down his legs. You peeked at his ***** body and immediately regretted it when you felt your pulse quicken, unsure if the response was from nerves or from lust. He was fucking beautiful, all muscle and skin, skin, skin everywhere. His body looked as if it had been carved from marble and brought to life by Zeus, putting all other mortals to shame with its perfect proportions.

Shawn raised himself up onto his knees, positioning himself between your legs. He ripped the foil open with his teeth and took out the latex sleeve, pinching the tip and rolling it down onto himself. Necessary precautions taken care of, he refocused on you, sitting back and fingering the edge of your panties. His light touches made you writhe beneath him, breathing heavy with every sweep across your thighs. When he took the back of his hand and ran it along the place you wanted him most, you cried out, making him grin before he finally, blessedly slid his fingers underneath the waistband and pulled them off your body. He raked his eyes down your completely ***** body and repeated your thoughts about his body back to you, “so fucking beautiful.”

His torso came down from above you to hover just above your breasts as he braced himself with his elbows on either side of your body. He took your face between his hands at the same time he positioned himself at your entrance, the cold latex surprising you, your eyes widening in anticipation.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, holding your eyes with his, “I’m right here. I would never, will never, hurt you on purpose. When I push inside, it’s going to hurt, but I won’t move until you’re ready, okay?” You nodded your head in assent, trying to breathe evenly. Slowly, he pressed forward, increasing the pressure, until he felt your body resist him. You felt him exhale near your ear and, at the same time, he pushed quickly further inside, deep within you, before he stilled completely. Audibly inhaling through your teeth and burying your head in his shoulder, you acclimated to the burning stretch. He cradled your head in his hands, muttering sweet nothings in your ear, as you willed your body to relax. When you finally felt used to him, you pulled back, pressing your back into the mattress and meeting his eyes, “I’m ready.”

Capturing your lips with his, his body started to move over yours, a pushing and pulling sensation that you’d never experienced before—a breathtaking fullness, completeness, contrasted with an equally devastating loss. The feeling returned, that feeling like you could crawl inside his armor, but this time it felt possible or even unstoppable, that you had to join him there or you might die. Like you might fall apart here, now, and collapse into ash beneath him.

You closed your eyes against the tears that welled, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you, feeling them roll down your temples and into your hair. Turning your head to hide the tears from him, you felt him grasp your hand and move it above your head against the pillow, intertwining your fingers with his. You felt his rhythm stutter, sweat blooming on his chest as his skin slid across your breasts. His eyes were closed, holding back, focused on holding on for you. He was close.

“Shawn,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he opened his eyes, “baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to wait for me.” His eyes widened, glassy and only partially focused, before his head dropped down to your shoulder and his hips pushed into you erratically. You fingered the wet curls at the nape of his neck as he found a home in your body, his hot breath warming your skin as he sucked a purple mark on your skin. Feeling more than hearing his moans deep within your chest, he plunged once more inside you and hit a place that had you both calling out, his satiated cries floating across your skin.

When he stilled inside you, unmoving and pressing his body weight against you into the mattress, you experienced a second of pure, unadulterated joy. It bubbled inside you and threatened to burst from your chest. It was in this moment you realized that crawling inside Shawn’s armor was never what you wanted. No, the true victory, the true intimacy, was breaking it apart.

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