“Caleb,” I say, my voice still raspy, sultry. “If you try to get data from a control group I’ll kill you.”
He leans forward, kisses me. I grab his cock in one hand and stroke it and bite his lip, and just like that the fire inside me reignites.
“Never,” he says. “Why, when I’ve got you?”
We kiss again, and we move together and I pull him against me as hard as I can, and then we’re going over and suddenly I’m on top, straddling him, both my hands on his chest and my clit pressed against his cock, already slippery with my wetness as I’m pressed against him.
In the back of my mind, a warning light flashes. I ignore it but for the first time since I got to Caleb’s house I hesitate for a split second before flexing my hips again and pressing myself into him.
“You like that?” he asks, a quiet growl.
“Yes,” I say, the word escaping me in a breathy whisper as I roll my hips over him again, savoring the pressure and the friction.
I keep ignoring my sudden hesitation. Stupid nerves.
“You’re sexy as hell,” he says, one hand wandering over my thigh, fingers closing around my hip. “Especially when you’re using my cock to get off.”
I fold forward, give him a deep, long kiss, keep rocking and grinding, try my best to ignore the alarm that’s slowly getting louder.
I tell myself that Caleb’s not taking advantage of me. I tell myself that virginity is a cultural construct at best and a tool of the patriarchy, used to control women, at worst.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter and I’m not actually losing anything. Practically speaking, this changes nothing.
“You okay?” Caleb asks, his hand still on my hip.
“Yeah,” I say, and take a deep breath. “Do you have any condoms?”
He stretches one arm out, opens the drawer on a bedside table, and grabs a small foil packet and a bottle of lube.
My heart hammers, slamming into my ribcage, and there’s a knot in my stomach. Caleb rips the packet open, takes out the condom, tosses the wrapper back onto the bedside table.
Then he looks at my face and stops.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t, just — not yet. I’m sorry, I know I just —”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, pushing himself up on his hands, the condom disappearing somewhere.
“Sorry,” I say again, then shake my head. “I mean, I don’t — I don’t know. It’s just…”
It’s just I have no idea what my problem is, other than at the very last moment I suddenly just couldn’t. In the most perfect moment ever, I just couldn’t.
I’m gonna die a virgin.
“It’s okay,” he says, cups my head in his hand, brings my lips to his. “Thalia. It’s fine.”
I kiss him, and the knot in my stomach unwinds slowly.
“It’s not you,” I whisper. “I swear.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“Virginity’s not even real,” I go on, eyes closed, my forehead against his. “It’s a made up thing, and I doubt I even have a hymen any more, I’ve ridden bikes and horses, I don’t know why…”
“Made up things can still be important,” he says, his voice soft. “I get it.”
He kisses me deeply, his lips still tasting faintly of me, and I kiss back and after a moment my hips move again, like they’ve got a mind of their own, gently bucking against him, still pleasure-seeking.
After a moment he pulls back and I can tell he’s half-smiling again, even though he’s too close to see.
“Can I eat you out again, though?” he asks.
My insides swirl at the thought.
“Please?” he says, and finally, I just nod.
Then he’s lying down again and he grabs me, pulls me forward. I yelp and grab the headboard of his bed, surprised at his strength, though I probably shouldn’t be. He loops his hands over my thighs, pulls me down to his face.
This time there’s no fingers, only tongue. Before he was controlled, steady, but this is fast and hard and furious. In moments I’ve got my forehead against the wooden headboard of his bed, leaning against it, arching my back as he pulls me in harder and licks me.
I’m moaning. I’m gasping, whimpering, and I put my arms over my head so I don’t grab Caleb’s hair like I want to.
The only phrase I manage to gasp out is don’t stop, and I say it over and over again: don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop don’t stop don’tstopdon’tstop and then I’m coming again and it’s nothing but a single long moan, shouted into the headboard.Chapter Thirty-TwoCalebI love watching her. Even from this angle I love seeing the way her chest heaves, the way her back arches. I love the way she sounds, all breathy moaning and gasping, telling me not to stop like there’s some possibility I was considering it.