The Big Sister - Part One Page 4

  I laughed and blushed, covering my face with my hand even as I glanced at the bulge in his pants. Something in me wanted to free that portion of him, to give its need relief, but I needed to speak my piece first.

  “This is really, really stupid,” I said. “But I just wanted you to know … before you … I mean, I’m sure you have expectations. It’s just that they’re probably false … well, I don’t know … I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?” Marcus repeated. “I’m not sure I understand, Faith. I think only an idiot would be disappointed to pass the time with you.”

  “I’m just not very experienced, um, in this aspect,” I said, finding it hard to continue to look into his gorgeous gaze but impossible to turn away.

  “And what aspect would that be?”

  I swallowed hard. Was he really going to make me spell it out for him?

  “Um, the aspect that we seem to be about to engage in,” I said. “The, uh, sexual aspect that I find — well, I think we both find — growing between us right now.”

  “I don’t think I can grow any harder than this,” Marcus said, his hand outlining the tent pole in his pants lightly. I burst into nervous giggles compounded by how visually … stimulating it was to see him palm his own manhood.

  “I think you should know before going any further that I’ve never had sex with anyone before,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “I’m a virgin, as stupid as that is.”

  The shock on Marcus’ face made me cringe away, but he seized me by the shoulders, keeping me right where I was.

  “There is nothing stupid about being a virgin,” he said, giving me a little shake.

  “It’s just that I’ve never really taken the time to date before,” I said, aware that I was babbling, horrified that I was giving him such a thorough look behind the current I fought so hard to keep drawn around my very personal life. “I’ve never really cared enough about it. I’m always busy, especially when I’m not working. I don’t think I really know what to do, but I have a pretty good idea. If you’d just tell me what I should do with my hands — I never really understood what I would do with my hands if I was, well, having sex.”

  “Faith, stop,” Marcus said, capturing my flailing hands and fluttering fingers. He kissed both of my palms gently before threading his fingers through mine. “We don’t have to do anything. I didn’t know that you were a virgin, and it’s not a big deal to me. The thing is, your first time should be with someone you care about. Your first time should be special. It shouldn’t be with me.”

  “That’s the funniest thing,” I said, daring to extricate my hand from his to rub my fingers over his petal-soft lips. “I do want my first time to be with you.”

  If possible, Marcus was even more shocked than when I’d admitted my virginity to him.

  “Why?”

  “I think you’re a good person,” I said. “No, I know you’re a good person. You’re kind, and you know what you want. You’ve made me feel good all night, and I want to return the favor. I can’t think of a better candidate for cherry popper than you.”

  The last statement made both of our eyes bug out before we collapsed into laughter. When I got nervous, I just didn’t understand how to shut up — or control what tumbled out of my mouth.

  “I am honored to be your chosen cherry popper,” Marcus managed to say with a straight face before dissolving into chortles again. He had such a nice laugh, contagious and joyful. Even as he continued to laugh, I leaned forward and captured his lips, slipping my tongue between them and sampling him as he’d sampled me earlier, in the elevator. The laughter faded, and the intensity sharpened. We were really going to do this, I realized, as he began to drag me into his lap. This was really going to happen.

  “You — you’ll have to tell me what you want,” I stuttered. “How to make you feel good.”

  “Faith.” Marcus seized one of my trembling hands and pressed it to his crotch. His cock was a rigid rod in his pants, and feeling it even through the expensive trousers made me flush. “All I’ve done so far is give you a backrub. I’m already feeling good just from touching you, from being in your presence.”

  I took my time feeling that stiffness, really exploring it. Maybe I’d never had time to date, or explore my attraction toward men, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t ever thought about it, been curious about the shape of things and how it all worked. It was harder, thicker than I’d imagined. That was going to fit inside of me?

  “Don’t be nervous,” he said again, perhaps reading whatever horrible expression was plastered across my face at the idea of the act of sex, the physics of it.

  “Then make me not nervous,” I said, the corners of my mouth hitching up into a small smile as my hands left off their exploration of his erection and traveled down his thighs to his knees. “I leave myself in your capable hands.”

  “Excellent choice.” Marcus embraced me, enveloping me in his arms completely. It wasn’t as if I’d never been hugged before. This was different, somehow, much more intimate but empowering at the same time. I felt like this was a safe space, like I could be myself as long as these arms were around me. I didn’t have to pretend to like Marcus; I actually really did. I could drop my masks and my acts, the ones I put on so eagerly for other customers. Something real was about to happen between us, and I wanted to be completely present in this moment.

  The most surprising thing of all was that the thoughts of my payday had all but vanished from my mind. It was a rare moment indeed when something took precedence over me earning money for my family.

  Marcus was rubbing his hands over my back again, encouraging my muscles to relax. I leaned into him, and he took the opportunity to work my dress over my hips, slipping it smoothly up and over my head.

  Just like that, I was in my panties, bra, and cowboy boots in front of him. That was fine. Sometimes, I was in considerably less when I was dancing on stage at the club. At the same time, though, I knew this was different. Not even a private dance could hold a candle to the kind of intimacy that we were sharing right now.

  “Can I ask you a favor?” Marcus’ intonation was soft. With a rush of affection for his gentle nature, for easing me into this next phase of my life, I realized I’d do any favor he asked. How did I get so lucky for my first time? So many of my coworkers at the club had horror stories for losing their virginities. Granted, some of them were hilarious — mostly the ones involving automobiles and parental interruptions — but they weren’t what I wanted for myself. Marcus was what I wanted, this ease of interaction between two people. There weren’t really any strings attached; there were zero expectations from either of us, besides the fact that we were going to make each other feel good.

  Was there anything simpler or better than that?

  “Definitely.”

  “Can we leave the cowboy boots on?”

  I laughed. It was seeming like Marcus liked my cowboy boots even better than I liked them.

  “Of course,” I said. “I don’t mind one bit.”

  “Perfect.”

  Marcus tipped my head to the side to give himself better access to my neck, and kissed it softly. The feel of his lips there was somewhere between ticklish and stimulating, and I had to fight myself not to try to squirm away from his touch. It was right on the edge of pleasure and discomfort, a precarious balance.

  The kisses traveled to my shoulder, and Marcus slipped my bra strap down and over my arm.

  “Want me to take it off?” I asked, thinking about that same ticklish but pleasurable feeling of his lips against my nipples. Imagining it made me squeeze my legs together in anticipation.

  “I want you to relax and enjoy the ride, so to speak,” he murmured, reaching around behind me and flicking the clasp to my bra open on the first try.

  “You’re very good,” I remarked, thinking about one of my coworkers regaling us with a tale of the time her boyfriend got reduced to tears after trying, and failing, for nearly twenty minut
es to get her out of her bra.

  “I’ve had some practice,” Marcus admitted mildly, slipping my bra off completely and cupping one of my breasts in his hand. “You’re so beautiful.”

  I flushed, but I didn’t know if it had more to do with the compliment or with what his casual touch against my breast was doing to me. I was incredibly aroused just from him touching me there. At the club, no one was allowed to touch the dancers. It surprised me that I could get turned on from such a simple action.

  “Thank you.” I leaned even farther into his touch, practically crawling into his lap, and hoping I didn’t seem too eager. I wanted more, but I didn’t know what more was. I had to depend on this kind man to show me, to give me the pleasure I craved.

  “Feels good?” His voice was so low and rough that it made me shudder. I didn’t trust my voice to speak anymore, so I just nodded.

  Marcus rubbed his thumb over my nipple, and it instantly responded to him by hardening into a sensitive nub, like a bundle of nerve endings. He saw what that did to me, saw my lips part to allow my tongue to wet them, felt the way my chest heaved in a breath of air beneath his palm. He moved on, gave my other breast equal attention, tweaking and pinching my other nipple so that it matched the first.

  By that time, I was panting, moving my hips forward in little thrusts that I didn’t understand, not caring how it might look or what Marcus might think of me. I needed more contact — that inexplicable “more.”

  “Lie back and relax,” Marcus said, helping me to settle on my back on the bed, tracing the shapes of my breasts with his hands, then trailing them down my stomach. I arched my back, and he took the opportunity to hook his fingers beneath my panties and work them down my legs, over my cowboy boots.

  I cringed a little bit under his steady gaze. No one, and I meant no one, had ever seen me naked down there. I was strident about my privacy at home and at the club. Even if some of my fellow dancers waltzed around the dressing room completely naked, I never did, preferring the solitude of a bathroom stall to do my costume changes.

  “Does it — does it look all right?” I asked, hating myself for sounding childish and stupid. If it didn’t look all right, I would’ve fully expected Marcus to run screaming from the room. Was it a positive sign that he hadn’t?

  “Faith, you’re perfect,” he said. “Believe me. You have nothing to worry about in this department.” He slid a finger between my two fleshy lips, and a shameful sound escaped my throat. It felt so good, and Marcus seemed to know exactly where to touch to elicit the strangest sounds from me.

  My friends at the club had cackled at male attempts to locate the clitoris, but Marcus apparently had a map. He circled it, pressed against it lightly, flicked just the pad of his finger over it again and again until I lost all caring for what I might sound like or look like. I trusted that the penthouse suite of the hotel would have decent soundproofing.

  When Marcus reached up to continue his assault on my nipples even as his motions against my pussy increased, it was heaven and hell all wrapped up into one. I squirmed away from his touches just as often as I drove myself toward them, wanting as much contact as I could get.

  It was all feeling so incredible that it hardly registered when he inched one of his fingers inside of my body.

  “Is that okay?” he asked me quietly, studying my face. At that point, all I could do was move my head up and down. I wasn’t even sure if it was a nod. “You tell me if it ever isn’t, all right? Damn, you’re so wet.”

  He lifted his fingers and showed me the evidence backing that statement, the digits gleaming in the light with the liquid that he’d drawn from my body. Was I some well of juices, or what?

  Marcus replaced his finger inside my body, working it in and out in time to his ministrations over my clit. My body accepted him and adapted, and my pleasure only grew.

  Suddenly, I became aware of exactly what I wanted.

  “I want you inside of me,” I blurted out, grabbing his wrist and stilling his hand.

  “I am inside of you,” he reminded me, wriggling his finger to prove it.

  “No, I want you,” I reiterated, blushing. Was he really going to make me say it? “I want your … your cock inside of me.”

  “That’s easily remedied,” he said, grinning down at me.

  “And I want to see you naked,” I said. If he was taking orders, I could give them.

  “Done and done.” Faster than I would’ve thought he could do it, Marcus was out of his clothes and nearly inside of me. “I’m going to do this very slowly. I don’t want to hurt you. I want nothing but pleasure for you, okay?”

  That was definitely something I could agree to, and yet, the feeling of the tip of his cock at my entrance was both enthralling and frightening. My breathing quickened as Marcus pressed forward, my pussy gradually stretching to accommodate him. It was more than I anticipated — much more — and I still wasn’t sure that my body could handle everything that Marcus was about to give me.

  But he was good at what he did, apparently, and I only experienced the mildest discomfort as he continued his relentless march forward, hilting himself inside of me. We both stayed still at this point, our breathing perfectly in time with each other, and I realized that my anticipation of pain had far outstripped what actually happened.

  “Are you all right?” Marcus asked me, sounding pained. I swallowed about five times before nodding quickly. “I need to hear you say it, Faith.”

  “I’m fine,” I gasped. “Promise.”

  “You’re so tight,” he rasped.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Good.” He bent down to kiss my forehead. “Promise.”

  He withdrew just as slowly as he’d penetrated, and then pressed forward again. It wasn’t nearly as harrowing this time — my body was learning to accept his, to draw it inward, to enjoy the sensation of being filled to the brim with him.

  Marcus thrust in and out again, but this time, he rubbed my clit as he did it. Oh — I saw stars. My world shattered and exploded.

  This — this was sex. This was not only sex, this was good sex. All of my coworkers talked and laughed about the horrors of dry, listless humping, but I was wet and primed and excited for each of Marcus’ subsequent thrusts. This was damn good.

  “More,” I breathed, and he immediately obliged.

  We fell into a rhythm, and pretty soon, his cock inside of me felt just as good as his fingers outside of me. I grappled at him, trying to find somewhere my hands wanted to be, but they wanted to be everywhere. I liked to touch his hard biceps, straining from holding himself over me. I liked to trail my fingers down his pectorals, to his stomach, examining each flex of his muscles, coordinating with his thrusts.

  Soon, though, I couldn’t focus on anything other than what was building deep in my core.

  I knew, on some level, what was in store for me. I knew what was coming. But that didn’t mean that I knew how to react when, all of a sudden, the sweetest, most powerful orgasm ripped through my body like an explosion. I screamed, held on to Marcus’ hair as tightly as I could, probably hurting him, then raked my nails down his back. I squeezed his midsection with my legs, tossed my head, arched my back, thrashed and moaned and whined my way through something I’d never shared with anyone else.

  It was glorious.

  “Christ, Faith, I can’t hang on,” Marcus gasped. He pulled out suddenly — I was immediately bereft of that pleasurable full feeling — and pulled on his cock. “I’m coming!”

  Droplets of warmth showered over my body. Fascinated, I dragged my hand through the burgeoning puddle of essence. It was thick, vaguely sticky, but not at all unpleasant.

  Suddenly boneless and weak, Marcus flopped down beside me, both of us fighting for our breaths as we stared up at the ceiling of the penthouse.

  I was flushed, panting, hoarse, sweaty, and utterly, utterly sated, as if I’d just been at the table of a feast for the senses. The throes of my orgasm faded into a pleasant glow, and
I couldn’t stop smiling even if I wanted to.

  “So how was your first time?” Marcus asked, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at me. His face and chest still shone with sweat, but his breathing was almost back to normal.

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better first time,” I said sincerely. If I ever got around to sharing how I lost my virginity with my coworkers at the club, a solid two-thirds of them would probably die of jealousy right on the spot. “Was I … was I any good?”

  Marcus’ bark of laughter made me jump a little. “Any good? You were marvelous, Faith. Incredible. A natural. Watching you enjoy yourself was almost better than my orgasm. That good.”

  “If you say so,” I said dubiously. This kind of praise lavished on me made me a little uncomfortable. Was I really good in bed without having any experience? All I’d done was trust Marcus to make everything right. Was trust the big secret to good sex?