Thin Ice (Power Play Series Book #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five × Intercourse

In health class, they talk about the inner-workings of sex. Though, anyone that's been forced to sit through listening to a 40-year old woman explain to a group of kids how their pee-pee is made, can tell you they call it "intercourse".

I went to a catholic school when I was growing up (a kid?), and they always made it sound very romantic and serious, the way it would happen. Okay, so maybe I imagined the romantic part - I have grown up to become a romance novel addict, after all; but they did make it sound serious. It was something that a man and woman would only do if they loved each other.

Now, having grown up in the age of internet porn and "let's see where things go", I know that's a load of shit. And if loving someone was a pre-requisite to getting in their pants, the human population would've gone extinct a long time ago. It's not to say that we don't have sex with people we love, but we don't prioritize love when determining if we want to have sex - at least, most people don't.

When I was casually dating (i.e. going on dates with random boys from Tinder), it seemed almost a given that I would let them lead the intimacy. And when I didn't get wet like a rainforest putting out a forest fire after two minutes of mediocre tongue fucking, they would look at me like I had two heads; like I, myself, was the problem for needing more than selfish hands, to get off.

Back then, of course, I didn't know. I didn't know that I was deserving of being with someone - waiting for someone, that would respect and love me. I didn't know that someone would exist that would be so patient and loving and wanting to make sure that I enjoyed it; and I don't mean just having an orgasm, I mean feeling safe and loved. Because, as I've learnt, feeling safe is a big part of what makes you able to have an orgasm as a woman.

Then again, what the fuck do I know? I'm not a sex therapist.

"Erik." I laugh - directly into his mouth. It's neither sexy nor something that would constitute him having a boner. In fact, I think that I should patent that and sell it for millions of dollars: how to get rid of an erection you don't want - have a girl laugh into your mouth. That'll do it. Plus, then I'd actually be able to be on par with Erik, the Kings, and their rich bitch lifestyle.

His tongue was in my mouth, just moments ago. Because that man kisses exactly like he feels - which in most circumstances, is hot, really hot. But in this case, when we're sitting on the couch of his parent's basement, it's not the best idea. Because as we've established, tongue, is how babies are made. Also, how you scare of a fuck boy - by asking him to eat you out.

"What?" He looks dazed - and confused. It's like he wants to ignore whatever I just said (his name) and put his tongue back in my mouth. As if I am the boarder patrol to his entry to a better place. His eyes are glued to my mouth and it takes a second for me to be able to talk; because seeing the way he's so hot and bothered for just a few kisses, is more than I can handle right now.

I mean, sure, I've been up since four am the morning before and my make up is probably making me look like a drag queen that just took a shower with their make up on, but I'm still human. And as a human that's deeply in love with this man sitting beside me, I'm very turned on by him turning on. Does that make sense? Probably not. Does anything in life? Also no.

He goes in to put his mouth back on mine; so closely that I can taste the beer from his lips - and whatever flavor of Doritos he was snacking on. I know it should sound gross but to me it's sounding like a cheese-flavored paradise; maybe it's my new kink? "What?" He wonders, seeming to really not understand why I wouldn't want to bump uglies in the midst of his childhood home. Why don't we just go to a sex party and become exhibitionists while we're at it?

Just kidding, I would rather die than have sex in front of someone other than him. With him, that is.

I give him a look, having enough of a connection to be able to just make eye contact and know what the other is thinking. He's thinking about being inside me - or at least putting his hands down my pants; and I'm thinking about whether or not I want to stop him. Truth is, I really don't, but someone has to be the rational, logical one, between the two of us. And while in almost every other facet of life he is the less emotional and more carefree, go-with-the-flow, to my intense control freak; when it comes to sex, his mind gets just as clouded as any man with a boner.

"Nobody ever comes down here, Ro." He assures me, his voice low and husky. He's looking at me with so much hope; like if I don't kiss him right now, he might perish. His eyes are heavy and the only thing I can concentrate on right now is how heavy his breath sounds. How turned on I've managed to make him. "Just me." He adds, pulling me half onto his lap and allowing me to feel exactly how much blood he has coursing through his blood. More specifically, in his dick.

I never realized or appreciated how hard a man actually feels when he has an erection - pre sleeping with Erik for the first time. Then I realized they feel like a rock a kid would throw at the window of someone they don't like, before running away so they don't get caught. Except in this case, I really want to hang around and see what that rock can do. What that rock can make me feel. How it feels inside of me?

"Are you sure?" I ask, my own voice sounding as raspy as that of a 70-year old smoker with lung cancer. I can already feel the moistening of my nether regions and let me just tell you, Toronto gets a lot of snow. And eventually, that snow needs to melt. Picture large hills of snow, melting away after a week-long storm; yeah, that kind of weather.

"Mhm." He nods, delicately moving my hair to one side of my neck. I know what he's going to do next, because it's what he always does. And as soon as he does it I know I won't be able to think straight - not that I'm thinking very logically as of this moment. "Everyone's still asleep, anyway." He says, then leaning over and placing his lips on my neck.

Let me tell you, if you've never had a man kiss your neck, you're missing out. And I don't mean a man that places a few light, half-assed kisses, because it's what he's seen on TV or learnt from some weird Reddit thread as the quickest way to get in a girls pants - so he only does a couple before trying to put his dick inside you.

I mean, a man that kisses your neck until you have to literally tell him to put his dick inside you. A man that wants to make you feel good - as good, if not better, then he currently does. A man that will kiss, suck, and lick your neck until you're begging for more. And not a vampire bite - though, some people are into biting (just not me). Begging for his schlong in your interior crevasses.

"Okay." I say, even though I'm not really answering a question or talking to anyone. Maybe just myself; giving myself permission to let loose. My hands are on his shoulders, gripping harder onto the muscle attached to them than a mom that's crossing the street with her toddler that's just learnt to walk.

I never thought that someone would exist that cared so much about me; about my pleasure; about making me feel good. And that fact alone, is something I spend a lot of time thinking about. How crazy it is that in this world or serial killers and murders, I, have somehow managed to find myself someone that I am both attracted to and in love with.

Someone that is a good enough person to give my heart to - trust my heart with, but also makes my pants wet.