Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
So this is what my friends used to speak about. Kisses that make your head feel like a helium balloon with its strings cut. Kisses that turn knees to jello. Stefan takes his time, building my trust with his gentle touch, easing his hand from my neck and letting his fingers trace my collarbone and lower until his hands are at my waist.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks again.
“I don’t know what I want,” I whisper. “That’s always been my problem.”
He smiles, kissing the corner of my mouth, and the relief I feel that there’s no frustration at my words, and no anger, burns my throat.
“So, we take it slow. And if you decide at any point that you want to stop, you just need to tell me. I’m going to ask you what feels good, and I want you to be honest. No fake moans. No fake enthusiasm. I want to learn to read you. I want you to come to know yourself and the things you like. The only way I can do that is if you teach me what you like as we go.”
“Okay,” I squeak, as Stefan touches my waist, his hand pushing at the fabric of my top, easing it up to reveal more and more skin.
“I’m going to take this off.”
I don’t object when he takes hold of the hem on both sides and draws it up and over my head. He’s seen me in a bikini and my bra isn’t that much more revealing except the way his eyes darken at my nudity is something new.
“Take off your bra.”
It’s a front fastener, so there’s no slow reveal. It just parts easily, revealing everything. Stefan folds his lips in, and when they’re released, they’re glossy and even more kissable.
“Can I touch you?” he asks, his hand already twitching at his side.
“Yes.” It’s a breathy whisper, a voice that doesn’t sound like mine.
I expect him to pinch and squeeze the way my other boyfriends have. That kind of touch has never done anything for me. I’ve never understood how easily men approach such a soft part of a woman’s body with a hard touch.
Stefan’s different, though. His fingers trail as light as a feather across my skin. When he weighs my breast in his palm, it’s with soft reverence. When he circles my nipple, it’s as though he’s stirring his finger through water. I close my eyes and relax into the tingly feeling as nerve endings that have been long dormant come alive.
“So pretty,” he murmurs. “Do you even realize how pretty you are?”
I swallow against the unexpected lump wedged in my throat. The tiny shake of my head is instinct and he tsks. I open my eyes and find him licking his index finger. “So pretty,” he whispers again, trailing the wetness around my nipple, the air cooling against the moisture and drawing it tight.
I expect Stefan to want to move on, to strip me of the rest of my clothes and race to the finish line, but he’s like a man presented with a tiny portion of Michelin starred cuisine that he intends to savor with slow, deliberate appreciation. I become like liquid beneath his soft touch. Dark swirling liquid that craves to be explored.
My hands reach out for his skin, pushing at his unbuttoned white linen shirt until it falls to the floor, finding his forearms hot and firm, and his biceps strong and sinewy. He’s a man who has dedicated time and energy to his physique. A man in tune with his own body. But can he be in tune with mine?
I’m the one who hooks my fingers into the waistband of my shorts and tugs them down over my hips, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I leave the last piece of my clothing to Stefan, shuddering as he slides a finger into the top of my lacy panties and teases the skin there. Oh god. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. What’s he expecting from me? An innocent virgin, quivering at every touch? Or a woman on a mission to explore?
How am I supposed to make this good for him?
I’m lost in my head, thinking about the next nine men who are going to follow this and the work it’s going to take me to get through each experience.
“Allie,” Stefan whispers, making me jump. “Where did you go?” He tips my chin, forcing me to look at him. Determined emerald eyes search mine, but I don’t know what he sees. Fear? Uncertainty? My worry that I’m just not enough?
“I’m here,” I say.
“You are now. You want to tell me what you’re thinking?”
I don’t, but finding a way to cover all my uncertainty with a believable excuse is just too difficult. “I…I don’t know how to relax into this. I don’t know how to make it good for me or for you.”