Emilia is suddenly a hundred percent certain that, in about five seconds, she’ll experience her first cunnilingus. Oates has just curled his long strong fingers around the waist of her ‘seamless slimming and smoothing stomach control briefs.’ On every site – and Emilia only shops for clothes online – ‘shapewear’ and ‘sexy’ are always two different tabs. And she did internally debate it the whole time and changed twice, but at the end the ingrained desire to appear smooth – since slim isn’t available to her – won. There’s a lace thong in her handbag. She hoped she’d get a chance to take off the contraption constricting her tummy like the proverbial boa, before he got to it. Oops.
Emilia panics and presses her hand into the top of his head. Didn’t they have exactly the same situation last time? He lifts his face and looks at her.
It’s possible that briefs aren’t particularly unattractive, but on the other hand, Emilia can’t know what is attractive to a man. Lace? See-through? A strategic slit? Stop it, Emilia! Focus on the man between your legs! You’ll do your research some other time.
The thing is, she just doesn’t think she’ll be able to retain the same level of arousal if he starts dragging them off her. They’re tight. It’ll be like unpacking one’s suitcase from cellophane they wrap your luggage into at an airport. He might give up mid-way.
Also, oral sex comes with a lot of questions and considerations, and she still hasn’t looked into it!
“I’ve never done it,” she blurts out, and he stares at her. “I mean I’ve never had it done to me,” she clarifies. On me? With me? For me? “And I think it’ll psyche me out, and I’ll get tense again! And you said it worried you last time! And can we just shag, please?! I really need you to shag me right now!”
She can see his face setting in hard lines. It’s like someone turns off a lightbulb inside his head. Even his eyes are suddenly dull.
Yep, Milly has just arsed it up. Why is this not surprising at all? Kate is back with vengeance. And it was going so well. Look, he’s moving away now, backing off like a crayfish.
Emilia jerks and clutches his sleeve.
He threw his mobile across the room because they were kissing. His cheekbones are flushed when he’s randy. He’d pushed through his idiosyncrasies in his flat for her sake.
Do better, Emilia.
She stretches and grabs the collar of his shirt. She’s so anxious that her hand is shaking, but he might just be worth it for her to woman up.
“I want you,” she says, her voice hardly firm. And just a bit more effort, Emilia. C’mon! “I don’t want to– worry, or– I want you to–”
He’s not moving.
You’re a writer, Emilia. Think.
“Fuck,” she says. “I want to fuck.”
She’s just skipped ‘you’ and ‘me.’ After all, it’s not about him doing something to her. And she suspects that’s not what he wants either.
Yes? No? Was this completely off-key?
He rises on his knees above her, his legs on two sides of her body – and unbuckles his belt.
Yeah, that’s a firm ‘yes.’
Emilia grasps the waist of her kickers, and pulls and jerks and wiggles as much as she can. Goodbye, 94% nylon, 6% spandex! Enjoy your nap on the floor! His hands lie on his hips, and she can see that his thumbs are hooked on both his trousers and pants, and he’s about to push them down.
“No!” she exclaims.
In for an inch, in for a mile.
“Give me your hand,” she orders. Where’s all this gumption coming from?! He does. “Pull me up–” She’s just omitted ‘please.’ Just in case.
He obeys again, rocking back a tad, his knees remaining in the same position, and she opens the button on his trousers – and pulls the zipper down. His left eyebrow has just cocked up. C’mon, Emilia, you can do it. It’s like jumping in a cold lake. The longer you think about it, the more likely you’re to lose your bottle. She holds her breath – and pushed her hand into his pants. It’s awkward, because she needs to twist her wrist, but she doesn’t have to go particularly deep. Wow. How is it not peeking out of his underwear? Oh wait, now it does. Apparently, it decided to greet her. Oh god…
“The table– the drawer– there–” she sputters and points at her nightstand. “Condoms.”
His face still rather unexpressive, he slowly tilts on one side – Emilia sort of follows, because her hand is wrapped around his cock. Oh god, her hand is wrapped around a male organ! It’s hot, smooth, and surprisingly pleasant.
Paul once asked her to get him off with her hand – but then he stopped her and said she was no good at it. After that, she tried to keep her hands to herself as much as possible.
Oates opens the drawer and takes a Durex out. Emilia uses them with some of her vibrators, mostly to figure out how to put them on. They are neatly organised in a charming bamboo container with pink and delicate green flower pattern. She opens her palm.
All hail practice! This wasn’t too bad, was it? Conversely, she was so focused on the technique of pinching the tip and unrolling without jerking, she forgot to brick it.
Before she starts analysing, she flops backwards on the bed. She doesn’t think she’s ballsy enough to beckon him sensually, so on her way down, she catches the sides of his jacket. Her weight is enough to make him stumble forward – she’s ignoring this fact – and he falls onto his hands, his arms straight. The question of her weight and consequently Oates’ velocity lingers. To expel all sorts of vague memories from her school days regarding mass, inertia, and the perpendicular distance to the specified axis, Emilia gives his jacket a decisive tug.
His lips twitch, and he lowers his hips onto her. Oh dear… Supporting himself on one arm, he shifts his clothes, aligns their bodies in the romance fiction vernacular – there’s a couple of funny pokes, and Emilia tells herself she’s not putting this in any of her books – and he pushes in.
Hell’s bloody bells!
“Wow!” Emilia exclaims, and he laughs.
“That’s a good reaction,” he murmurs.
Seriously, look! That’s a different man! His lips are bright red, relaxed, and there is a smile fluttering on them. That’s a cliché, but there’s no better way to phrase it! And his eyes! There are splashes of different shades of blue dancing in them. Alternatively, Emilia is just high on oxytocin.
“Could you, please–” she starts, and then remembers. “Oh, sorry. I forgot. You should move,” she diligently fakes a commanding tone.
He carefully goes down on his elbows, and his nose is pressed to hers. Emilia gawks at him, unintentionally crossing her eyes.
“Sorry, love, it’s just not working,” he purrs and rubs his nose to hers.
What?! What’s not working? Has he… changed his mind? Emilia feels panicked and sinks her nails into his sleeves. Please, no!
“You’re too cute for kink right now,” he whispers and kisses her cheekbone, and then her temple, and her ear.
Does that mean he’s going to leave and– Emilia doesn’t finish her terrifying internal squawking because he’s just rocked his hips. Oh god, this feels so good! He starts moving, slowly, deeply, and Emilia moans. There’s some sort of rewarding rhythm in his movements, and also he’s shifting a tad with each stroke, curving his back.
Emilia realises her eyes are closed, and she peeks. His weren’t, and they look at each other.
“Hey,” he says and smiles, and it’s so natural and light – and adorable – that Emilia bursts into giggles.
He leans down and kisses her. His right hand is near her face, and she feels the tips of his fingers brush at her temple, and his thumb caresses her chin. So, so good… She pushes her hand around his middle again, over his shirt, under the waistcoat and the jacket. She can feel his sides rise in deep breaths. Why is this so… delicious? Is this some sort of a fetish of hers? That’s surely a disproportionate amount of pleasure she’s getting from simply splaying her hands over his ribs, specifically with his shirt on.
“Emilia,” he rumbles, and she snaps out of her ruminations.
“Um… Sorry,” she mutters embarrassed. “I was just thinking how nice you feel.”
“You feel nice too,” he answers. “So nice…” He presses his lips to the corner of her mouth. “So soft…”
He’s just as slow and purposeful, and Emilia is starting to feel odd. Is that what they call ‘melting’ in hentai? She’s watched some of that for research purposes. It’s definitely not for her, but she’s taken notes and it seems there’s no better comparison right now. It’s like she’s losing the understanding of where her body ends. She feels liquid, and warm, and… something. Thinking… not happening. Words… What… So warm…
She gasps, and shudders, and arches on the bed. What. Is. This?!
The world goes black for a moment, and then she whines and wraps her arms around his neck, and pulls him down. And then she starts sobbing – and then laughs through her tears. This is mental. You need to stop this, Milly.
“Em-ma?” he asks.
The man sounds concerned. Pull yourself together, Emilia.
“I think I just– had my first proper orgasm,” Emilia mumbles. “I’m sorry… Just give me a moment… It’s just sort of– Oh god, it’s not stopping–”
She’s probably suffocating him, but she just can’t loosen her grip. There are some sort of convulsions – of the best sort – going through her body, in waves, and she’s taking greedy deep breaths.
“It’s still–” she whines.
It still is. Is this even normal? The average length of a female orgasm is 30 seconds. It’s supposed to require at least 13.46 minutes for a man to ‘get the woman there,’ so to say.
Sodding bloody hell!
“Oh no, another one!” Emilia whimpers and squeezes her eyes again.
Yep. Another one. So, that’s not a myth either.
Oates is making soft purring noises, kissing her cheekbone. She finally releases him and covers her face with her hands.
Also, she keeps squeezing him ‘down there.’ As much as she’s enjoying it – c’mon, she’s having a multiple crisis! – it’s a bit embarrassing at this stage.
And her eyes flew open. He called her Emma!