The Way She Shakes

My thighs won’t stop trembling. The thought cuts through me like a pulse, sharp and electric. The hotel room smells like clean linen and something heavier underneath—his cologne, maybe, or the cloying musk of my own want. I can’t stop fidgeting with the edge of the quilt. The mattress dips under his weight as he sits beside me. Neither of us speaks.

I’ve imagined this a hundred ways. In the shower, under my sheets, against the steering wheel of my car late at night—flash-fantasies of hands that weren’t mine. But now that he’s here, the reality of it clots in my throat. His fingers graze my knee, and I flinch like it’s brand-hot. A laugh huffs out of him—not cruel, just warm.

“Nervous?” His voice rasps. I nod. Too fast. His palm slides up my thigh slowly, teasing the hem of my dress. My breath hitches when his thumb finds the edge of my panties. Cotton, already damp. He’ll feel that. The thought sends a stupid jolt through me. His other hand finds the back of my neck, callouses scraping lightly, tilting my chin up. “You tell me to stop anytime,” he murmurs. His lips brush mine once, testing. Then again, harder. My teeth sink into my own bottom lip to keep from whining.

He kisses like he’s got all night. Like he’s memorizing the weight of my mouth against his. When his tongue slips in, I moan without meaning to—a high, reedy sound. His grip tightens. “There she is,” he growls. The words go straight between my legs. He pushes me back onto the bed, my dress rucking up around my waist. Cool air hits my thighs. His knuckles skim up them, then inward, tracing the lace of my underwear. I arch off the mattress when his fingers press down on the wet spot.

“Christ, you’re soaked.” His voice dips lower, rougher. He hooks two fingers under the lace and drags them down my legs. My hips jerk. His mouth quirks as he tosses the fabric aside. “Look at you.” His thumbs spread me open, and I feel the flush creep down my chest. “So pretty here. All pink and waiting.” A fingertip traces my slit, barely there. I whimper. “Relax.” His breath puffs against my inner thigh just before his tongue licks a long, slow stripe up my cunt.

I gasp like I’m drowning. His hands pin my hips down as he does it again—lighter, teasing the very edge of me. My thighs try to snap shut on instinct. He chuckles against me, the vibration making me squirm. “None of that.” His tongue flicks my clit once, sharp. I cry out. “Gonna make you come like this first,” he mutters. His lips close around the tender bud and suck. My vision whites at the edges. One of his fingers presses at my entrance—just the tip, just enough to make me clench around nothing. “Fucking hell,” he groans. “You’re tight.”

I don’t know what sounds I’m making anymore, just that his mouth is relentless. A second finger pushes in alongside the first, curling. I grip the sheets. The stretch burns a little, but the way his thumb rubs circles on my clit overshadows it. The pressure coils low in my belly, a live wire fraying. “That’s it,” he rasps. His fingers pump harder. “Come on my fingers. Let me feel it.” His teeth graze my thigh, and it snaps—pleasure surging up so fast my back bows off the bed. I clamp around him, shaking. He doesn’t stop until the oversensitivity borders on pain. When he pulls away, his chin glistens.

I’m still shuddering when he unbuckles his belt. The sight of him—hard, angry red, leaking—makes my mouth water. He strokes himself, eyes locked on where I’m splayed open. “Gonna fuck you now,” he says, and I nod frantically. He lines himself up, the head nudging at my entrance. His voice drops to a whisper. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

And then he pushes in.

It’s—a lot. The fullness steals my breath. He takes it slow, inch by inch, his jaw flexing like he’s holding himself back. My nails dig into his shoulders. When he’s fully seated, we both go still. “Okay?” he grits out. I nod, dazed. His hips twitch experimentally, and the drag has me gasping. He curses. “You feel—” The rest gets lost when he thrusts hard, punching a moan out of me. From there, it’s a blur—snatched breaths, his name tumbling from my lips, the wet sound of skin on skin. His pace falters when I clench around him again, keening. “Fuck, are you—?” He cuts himself off to groan as I come a second time, pulsing around his cock. His hips stutter, then he’s burying himself deep with a choked noise. Heat spills inside me.

He collapses on top of me, both of us panting. His lips find my throat, lazy and open-mouthed. When he pulls out, I whine at the loss. His laugh puffs against my collarbone. “Greedy already?” His fingers stroke through the mess between my thighs, gathering it up to push back inside me. My whole body jerks. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “Plenty more firsts to try.”