Page 164 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“This was supposed to be an orgy. We can find a real condom somewhere,” Allen said, his voice heavy and breathless. “But before we go any further, there’s something you need to know about me.”
“What is it?” My mind raced with possibilities. I thought I knew everything about my friend, but he could have been holding out on me. I have hep C. I have HIV. I have three balls.
“I don’t know how to say this . . .”
“It’s okay. Really, it’s okay.”
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m pretty sure my dick is bigger than yours.”
“You’re an idiot,” I said, unzipping his tuxedo pants. I could see the outline of his manhood through his boxer briefs. I slipped my fingers through his fly, brushing against his cock at first and then gripping it. I couldn’t make a fist or even wrap my fingers around it. He wasn’t kidding—his dick was bigger than mine.
He wiggled out of his pants, and I peeled his boxer briefs down. “So I guess you really are the big man on campus,” I said, eyeing him.
“Who called me that?”
“I did. In my head at least, when I saw you in class that first day.”
Allen laughed. “What class was that? I don’t even remember. Creative writing?”
“English lit,” I said, massaging his cock. A low grunt of pleasure sounded from his throat.
“How do you remember stuff like that?”
I shrugged. “The same way you remember your dad’s jokes. Some things stick with you. Like this moment . . . I’m never going to forget.”
He smiled. “I won’t either.”
As I went down on him, I tried not to overanalyze his promise. Was he just trying to do me a favor by finally giving in to my pleading eyes? I didn’t know if this was the start of something new between us—or if this was just Allen needing someone to take care of him for the night. We would talk about it later, on the trip back. For now, I would love him as best as I could. If all we had was this moment, I would make it last. Before death, there would be bunga bunga.
About the Author
ANDREW SHAFFER is the Goodreads Choice Awards–nominated author of Fifty Shames of Earl Grey, as well as the nonfiction titles Literary Rogues and Great Philosophers Who Failed at Love. He is a former reviewer of romance, erotica, and women’s fiction for RT Book Reviews magazine. His Web site is www.literaryrogue.com.
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With the Lights On
ALESSANDRA THOMAS
I’D ONLY COME close to having a panic attack during sex once.
Morning sunlight streamed into Tal’s bedroom through the huge window, lighting up the all-white bedding. I lay naked beneath a gauzy, thin sheet on a mahogany-framed cloud, with the lips of an angel pressed to the spot just beneath my ear. I lazily rolled my head back into the pillow, stretching my neck out as a larger canvas for his handiwork.
And oh my Lord, was he handy at kissing.
Tiny points of electricity sparked across my skin wherever his lips, and a second later, his hands touched. There were no bony edges here—he was all hard muscle and I was more than happy to be all healthy, grabbable curve. That was something I’d finally learned to love about myself, even after Mom talked about it like it was a popularity death sentence. I’d done a lot of work since what happened last year, but now I was finally feeling good.
His hand glided over my stomach and rested on my hip, his thumb sitting at my waist and pressing in. The feeling crashed over me all at once—his hand was made to fit there.
Tal’s shoulders dipped below the sheet as he kissed down my neck, let his tongue dip into the curve between my collarbones. Along the way, he murmured sweet things—how he’d never get tired of the way I taste, how he couldn’t get enough of me, how we should never leave this room—along with my name, Anna, with such smooth devotion that it took my breath away. He told me how he’d do anything I asked him to, inside the bedroom and out.
I knew he meant every word. That’s what was bothering me.
After just two weeks of dating, which was at first shy but quickly turned serious, I thought I was falling in love with him. I’d never felt quite that close to that particular feeling before. My heart galloped recklessly along the path, forming the words on my tongue, and just before they tumbled out, I stopped, and realized I was staring over a cliff.
Tal pulled me toward him, and when he did, the sheet fluttered away from my body and got crushed between our bodies. The reflected sunlight streamed through the window and made a halo around my now bare golden-brown skin. My eyes flared as I realized just how naked I was in the bright light. The whole scene would have been perfect if it wasn’t inevitably headed for disaster.
My heart rate escalated from galloping to racing, and I couldn’t rein in my breaths. Tal should have noticed, but he didn’t, because his tongue was about to reach my nipple, one of his favorite spots—and mine, when I wasn’t on the brink of a panic attack. I could feel very clearly from the hot pressure against my stomach that he was thinking with the wrong head to figure out that, at that particular moment, I was about to lose my shit.
