The Sackler Trap

All Time High

I rushed to obey him, flipping over faceup. He swiftly removed my camisole and it joined the shorts on the floor. Adam laid his fingers on my chest and drew them slowly down, stopping just at the swell of my breasts. He slid his hands around the outside curves, nudging my arms out of the way and cupping the splayed weight in his palms. It felt so intimate and shockingly good and I drew in a choked breath as he pressed inward a bit. Then slowly, watching my reactions closely, his fingers began spiraling inward and back out but never touching the tips. He smirked at my little noise of dismay.

I realized my arms had slid up until my hands were touching over my head. Almost as if I was offering myself to him.

"Adam, please," I whimpered.

"I want to take my time with you," was his infuriating answer.

I sighed and rolled my head side to side.

He covered my breast with one hand and pressed up, then ran a finger along the crease underneath it. My nerves went crazy. I writhed as he did the same thing to my other breast. Then he took his hands away. I drew in a breath to complain but released it in a long sigh when his fingers brushed fleetingly over my nipples. I closed my eyes, felt his damp hair on my chest, then a wet, warm tongue. I moaned and spasmed, almost knocking him off balance.

"Careful, you bad girl," he said huskily. "Or I might have to stop."

He caught my nipple between his teeth and tugged gently. I bucked again but this time Adam was ready. He looked more than a little smug as he pressed his hand into my abdomen.

I stared up at him as his eyes roamed over my body, not cautiously but with an all-encompassing look of possession. It suddenly hit me that Adam wasn't just shockingly good at eliciting reactions I didn't know I could have, but his eyes held enough of an erotic charge to curl my toes. He stared at me with a combination of speculative calculation and barely veiled hunger.

He curved his hands over my knees and slid his palms up to the tops of my thighs. Down again, the outside of my legs, pausing to brush his fingers over and over against the back of my knees. It made me twitch. Made my legs bend a little, and he was waiting for that. He caught my knees and pressed them back against the sheet, pressed me open.

He moved closer between my legs to allow me to rest my thighs on his shoulders; then his head dipped towards my sex.

His tongue, so eloquent or sarcastic with his lines as the scene called for, was deftly swift in this endeavor. He flicked, sucked, and swirled me to astounding ecstasy. My head turned this way and that, the pleasure coursing through my entire body but focused in the hub of indescribable, perfect pleasure between my legs. My muscles tensed rhythmically, my back arched. I hoped I wasn't being too loud, because the passion sweeping my body was too powerful to be capped by silence.

I was having a hard time keeping my hips still, though I was trying to do just that, because I didn't want to throw him off his rhythm. I was fighting the urge to grip his head and push him closer.

Closer, so close. I could feel the edge right in front of me, it was right there, and I wanted nothing else in the world so much as to have him inside of me . . .

I fell off the edge of my second orgasm, feeling the mattress welcome me back to earth. Adam flicked a couple of aftershocks from my clitoris, then I felt him move away from me. He came back a moment later and curled beside me while I gasped breath back into my spent lungs. My thigh muscles were still twitching.

I felt his large hand on my inner thigh, his fingers stroking my skin, and I met his eyes. He flung away the towel that still clung loosely to his hips and my breath hitched in my chest, remembering the size of him from last night's shower.  Before I could lose my nerve, I deliberately grazed the heel of my palm up his length, loving his deep throated groan. It surprised me when he moved, thrusting up, forcing my hand down, and I glanced back up at him, delighted to see his eyes half closed with pleasure but gazing avidly at me, his mouth slightly open as he panted. 

Experimentally, I slid my hand back up again, giving him a slight squeeze; he groaned and rolled his hips, grinding himself in my inexpert grasp. I didn't know what I was doing, but I could tell it gave him pleasure for me to touch him and, good God, how I wanted him inside me despite my worries about his size.

I stroked up, noting the way the skin moved with my hand, and when I reached the tip, I stroked down. Tentatively, I passed the palm of my hand over the tip of his penis, feeling the slick moisture, and I rubbed it about, fascinated by his unrestrained, pleasure-seeking thrust and grind against my hand. I made a few more trips up and down, seeing how the lubricant eased my way. Just as I felt I was getting a rhythm going, he lifted his head and seared me with his eyes, laying a stopping hand over mine.

He moved his sweat-sheened body onto mine, and with only a second's hesitation – mostly ingrained worries about being thought easy – I let him move between my bent knees. My eyes met his briefly, and then he moved his body upward and—

He was inside me. My breath caught in my throat. I was totally filled.

The discomfort I was dreading wasn't there, but the sudden, intense physical connection brought something like pain-pleasure to my stomach. He moved once, slowly, and my lower body seemed racked with surprise, pleasant yet aching, as it had never been before.

He moved into a long, slow rhythm, my body's first response giving way to perfect, primeval pleasure. With each slow thrust, it coursed through my body from my flushed cheeks to the tips of my alternately pointed and flexed toes. It rolled over me like ocean waves, each one mounting higher and higher, pulling me towards –

There. My muscles clenched in a fit of orgasm, more visceral than the last one. My head tilted back, and cries of passion escaped my lips.

But Adam wasn't finished.

His rhythm quickened and shortened slightly, becoming more focused. For the first time, I understood why my furtive sexual encounter with other men left me feeling blasé about sex. As another orgasm built, I knew that this was what sex was meant to be. This was what the 'big deal' was all about.

Adam and I were both moaning as I've only heard in movies as we rocked together in matched cadence. I lifted my knees, appeasing a delicious instinct, curling my body into a C to meet him. Another orgasm exploded, like a chemistry project gone wrong in my womb. At the same time, Adam gave his loudest howl and thrust deeper. I felt his release inside me.

Everything was still.

I became slowly aware of the bedsheet sticking to the rivulet of sweat down my spine, the intolerable heat in the previously comfortable room, and Adam above and surrounded by me. His chest was heaving, matching my own breathing.

He began to move away, but I whispered, "Wait."

I couldn't stop the need to feel him inside me, easing me down from my sexual high.

My arms and legs still draped around him, Adam obligingly waited, his body pressing down upon me, resting his forehead on the pillow beside my head. I could hear his post-orgasmic sighs in my ear. I caught my breath, willing the tears in the corners of my eyes to dissipate unshed, and I held onto his firm, broad, comfortingly male body.

Sooner than I wanted, he shifted with a grunt, and our connection was gone. My hips thanked me when I brought my legs back to a civilized position. But Adam only moved as far as directly beside me. His arms circled my body, his forehead against my neck and the increasingly familiar tickle of his beard on my skin.

My body hummed like a tightly strung guitar that had been played to pieces by an expert. I could hear my own heartbeat drumming in my chest, the pulses in my throat still going wild. It was a while before they would return to normal. I let Adam hold me to him, despite the fact that it wasn't the most comfortable position in which to sleep. I felt a tiny pang in my heart as I realized that he was the first man to ever seem to want to hold me after sex. Did that say something about him or me? I wondered. I breathed in his scent as he fell easily into a well-earned slumber. I knew I wouldn't be able to go to sleep so quickly...my brain was whirring and whining with too much activity and sensory overload. 

So. It had happened. In the dim, pleasure soaked depths of my brain came the thought: Was I an Upstate Girl now?