Chapter 6: First Exploration
The credits’ white glare washed over them, a sterile intrusion. Kimi ignored it. His world had narrowed to the weight of her breast in his hand, the frantic beat of her heart against his palm, the damp warmth of her breath through his t-shirt where her face was buried.
He moved his hand again, a slow, deliberate knead through the soft cotton. She was all soft curves and smooth skin and taut muscle underneath, a landscape he was only beginning to explore. Her little gasp was a reward. He did it again, learning the shape, the give, the perfect weight of her.
“Kimi,” she whispered, the name a question and an answer.
“Shhh,” he murmured into her hair. His other hand came up to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her dark curls. He held her to him. She was pliant, melting, trusting him completely with this avalanche of new sensation.
His thumb found her nipple through the fabric. It was already a hard peak. He circled it slowly, feeling her jolt in his arms. He pinched it, gently at first, then with a bit more pressure.
The sound she made was a choked-off, high mewl, a gasp that broke into a whimper. It shot straight to his groin, a live wire of pure need.
He did it again.
She cried out, a soft, broken thing, and her whole body arched against him, a reflexive seeking motion that rubbed her backside against the hard ache in his sweatpants. A groan ripped from his throat. He liked that sound. He needed to hear it again, to wring every possible variation of it from her.
She was shifting and wriggling in his lap now, not to escape, but because she didn’t know what to do with the electricity he was sparking under her skin. Her movements were innocent, clumsy, unbearably erotic. She was drowning in feeling with no idea how to swim.
A devastating, blinding realization detonated in his brain.
It wasn’t just that she was a virgin, untouched by anyone else. The sheer depth of her reaction, the uncomprehending wonder mixed with the raw, physical response… it was the reaction of someone discovering their own body for the first time. She had never touched herself. She had never had an orgasm. The concepts were theoretical, blank pages in the book of her.
He, and he alone, would write on every single one.
The knowledge made him feral. A possessive, dark heat flooded his veins, hotter than any podium champagne, more intoxicating than any pole position. This was his. Hers was his. Every sigh, every tremble, every peak of pleasure she had ever experienced or ever would experience belonged to him. He was the architect. The only one.
“My sweet girl,” he growled, his voice ragged. “My innocent, perfect Lessia.”
He couldn’t stay still. His hand slid from her breast, down the plane of her stomach, feeling the muscles jump under his touch. The hem of her sundress was rucked up around her thighs. He slipped his hand beneath it, his fingers skating over the smooth, warm skin of her inner thigh. Higher.
She froze.
“Kimi…” It was a breath of pure panic.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his lips against her temple. “Just feel it. I’ll show you.”
His fingers traced higher, through the soft, dark curls he found there. She was so wet. The slick, hot evidence of her arousal soaked through the thin cotton of her panties. A low, animal sound escaped him. She whimpered, a confused, overwhelmed sound.
His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, finding the swollen, tender core of her. He stroked her there, a firm, slow pressure.
Her whole body bowed. A sharp, punched-out cry tore from her throat. Her hands flew to his arms, her nails digging into his biceps. She was panting now, short, ragged gasps against his neck.
“It’s too much,” she sobbed, but her hips were pushing minutely against his hand, a helpless, instinctive search for more friction. “I can’t… it’s…”
“You can,” he insisted, his own control a thin, fraying thread. He rubbed her through the damp cotton, circling the sensitive nub he found there, slick and swollen.
Her reaction was instantaneous, violent in its purity. A sharp, punched-out cry tore from her throat. Her back bowed, her head thrown back against his shoulder. Her thighs trembled, clamping instinctively around his wrist, not to push him away, but to trap his hand, to hold the shocking, unbelievable sensation right there.
“Oh God,” she sobbed, the words ragged. “What… what is that?”
“It’s you,” he breathed, watching her face contort in bewildered ecstasy. He kept up the relentless, gentle circling. “It’s just you. Let it happen. Come on, Lessia. For me.”
She was panting, her chest heaving, her eyes squeezed shut. She was a bowstring pulled taut, vibrating with a tension she didn’t understand. She liked it. She was terrified by it. She was being unmade by it.
Then she turned in his lap.
It was a clumsy, desperate movement. She needed to be closer, to hide, to seek anchor. She scrambled, twisting until she was straddling his thighs, facing him. Her knees dug into the sofa cushions on either side of his hips. Her dress was a messy pool of fabric around her waist.
Her face was a masterpiece of bewildered ecstasy. Tears glistened on her dark lashes. Her lips were red and swollen from where she’d been biting them. She stared at him, her dark eyes huge and uncomprehending, seeing the best friend and the stranger who was doing this to her all at once.
She didn’t know what was happening. She was completely, utterly lost in the storm he was conducting.
With a frantic, helpless sound—a mewl that was half-sob, half-plea—she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her arms locked around his shoulders, her fingers clutching at the back of his t-shirt. She was panting, hot, ragged breaths against his skin. And she was writhing.
Not away. Into.
Her hips moved in tiny, unconscious circles, grinding herself against the hard ridge of his erection still confined by his sweatpants, seeking friction, seeking the source of the terrifying, glorious pressure building inside her. Each shift, each desperate roll of her hips, was both an accident and an invitation.
Kimi held her with one arm locked around her lower back, keeping her tight against him. His other hand was still between her legs, his touch relentless, a focused point of fire in her universe.
“That’s it,” he breathed into her hair, his own control a thin, cracking veneer. “Just like that. You feel so good. So perfect. You’re mine. All mine.”
She mewled again, the vibration humming against his neck. She was nuzzling into him, a frantic, animalistic search for comfort and more sensation at the same time. Her body was a live wire in his arms, twisting and panting and writhing as he touched her, as he showed her the first, catastrophic steps toward a cliff she didn’t even know existed.
“I can’t—” she gasped, the words splintering against his skin. “It’s—something’s wrong—”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he rasped, his own breath coming in harsh gusts. His fingers pushed the soaked cotton of her panties aside, finding her bare, slick heat. The first direct touch made her scream, a short, sharp sound of sheer shock. “It’s right. It’s so right. Let go, Lessia. Just fall.”
Her whole universe telescoped down to that single point of contact, to the rough pad of his fingertip circling the aching, swollen nerve he’d discovered. The tension was a physical coil winding tighter and tighter in her belly, a gathering storm with no name. She was crying, hot tears leaking into the collar of his shirt, her breaths shallow, panicked hiccups.
“I don’t understand,” she whimpered, her hips rolling in a frantic, jerky rhythm against his hand, against the hard pressure of him beneath her. She was chasing it, terrified of it, utterly possessed by it.
“You will.” He shifted his touch, entering her with just one finger, a slow, inexorable breach. She was impossibly tight, clenching around him, a hot, velvet fist. The feel of it nearly undid him. “Now, Alessia. Come for me. Now.”
The command was the final trigger. The coil snapped.
A white-hot shudder ripped through her, violent and total. Her back arched so severely he thought it might break, a silent scream stretching her lips. Every muscle locked, trembling on a dizzying, razor’s edge for one endless second.
Then it broke in waves, a crashing, suffocating tide. Her cry was a raw, torn thing, muffled against his neck. Her body convulsed around his hand, rhythmic, helpless clenches that milked his finger. She shook apart in his arms, completely and utterly, as the unnamed, terrifying pleasure shattered her into a million glittering pieces.
He held her through it, whispering ragged, possessive praise into her hair as the tremors slowly, slowly subsided into weak, aftershock shivers. She was boneless, heavy, her breathing a wet, broken sound. She’d crossed the cliff. And he’d been the only one there to catch her.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of her ragged, slowing breaths and the distant hum of the villa’s climate control. Kimi slowly withdrew his hand from between her thighs. She made a soft, protesting noise at the loss, a kittenish sound that vibrated through his chest.
He brought his glistening fingers to his lips, his eyes locked on her dazed, tear-streaked face. He sucked them clean, a slow, deliberate pull. A low groan rumbled in his throat. “God,” he breathed, the word thick. “You taste so sweet, Lessia. Like sunshine.”
She blinked, her dark eyes hazy and unfocused, still swimming in the aftermath. A fresh blush painted her cheeks at his action, at his words. She didn’t look away. She just wanted to be closer. She writhed weakly in his lap, a feeble, instinctive wriggle to press every inch of herself against him, as if she could fuse their skin.
Her hands came up to cradle his face, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. Her touch was reverent, shaky. She searched his eyes, her own wide with wonder and a lingering, vulnerable confusion.
“Kimi?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, scraped raw from her cries.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Will you…” She hesitated, her lower lip trembling. She took a shaky breath, gathering a courage he knew she’d learned only from him. “Will you kiss me? Be my first kiss?”
His heart slammed against his ribs. He’d dreamed of this, burned for it, but hearing the shy, sweet question from her lips unleashed a tempress inside him he could barely cage. He nodded, a single, slow dip of his chin.
He closed the small distance, his lips meeting hers with a tenderness that threatened to undo him. It was soft, a brush, a question. She was clumsy, her mouth uncertain against his, but so eager. She kissed him back with a naive, heartfelt pressure that was more devastating than any practiced technique.
He let her lead for that one, fleeting moment, let her have the clumsy sweetness of her first. Then he took over.
The kiss deepened, transforming. He devoured her. His mouth slanted over hers, claiming, teaching. He licked into her, tasting the faint remnant of her cry and the underlying sweetness that was just her. She gasped into his mouth, a sound of shock that melted instantly into a moan.
Her body, which had gone limp, reignited. She writhed against him anew, not from overwhelmed panic, but from a dawning, hungry need. Her fingers tangled in his curly hair, gripping tightly, holding him to her as if he were oxygen. She met his hunger with a surprising, untutored fervor, learning the rhythm he set, mimicking the slide of his tongue.
He kissed her until they were both breathless, until the last tremor from her climax had been replaced by a new, gathering tension. When he finally pulled back, just an inch, they were both panting. Her lips were swollen, glistening. Her eyes were no longer confused. They were dark, focused, full of a new and specific wanting.
She didn’t speak. She just stared at his mouth, her own parting slightly. Then she leaned in and kissed him again, a shy, tentative mirror of his earlier gentleness. It was her asking for more, in the only language she now knew.
He gave it to her, but on his terms. His hands slid down to grip her hips, stilling their desperate little circles against him. He broke the kiss, pulling back just far enough to see the wild, wanting confusion in her eyes.
“Easy,” he murmured, his voice rough sandpaper. “We’ve got all night.”
“But I…” Her protest was a breathless thing. She tried to move against him again, seeking the friction that had just shattered her. Her body was learning its own new hunger, a craving ignited by his touch. “It felt… I need…”
“I know what you need,” he said, cutting her off gently. He brushed a sweaty curl from her forehead. His own need was a screaming pressure in his veins, a live wire jammed against his spine. He ignored it. “And I’m going to give it to you. But not like that. Not tonight.”
Her face fell, a flash of heartbreaking rejection clouding her dazed expression. “Did I do it wrong?”
“Christ, no.” The laugh that escaped him was harsh, choked. He framed her face with his hands, forcing her to see the truth in his eyes. “You were perfect. You are perfect. That’s why.” He traced her swollen lower lip with his thumb. “Tonight was for you. Only you. To show you. To let you feel.”
He leaned in, capturing her mouth again in a slower, deeper kiss. This one was a promise, a brand. His hands moved from her face, skating down her neck, over the damp cotton of her sundress. He found the diamond ‘12’ necklace, warm from her skin, and let his fingers curl around it.
“My good girl,” he whispered against her mouth. “Taking everything I gave you. Coming on my hand like it was made for you.”
A sharp, shocked gasp vibrated from her throat into his. Her eyes flew open. The crude praise, so at odds with the tender way he held her, sent a fresh, confusing jolt through her system. A different kind of heat pooled low in her belly.
“Kimi,” she breathed, the name a plea.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth traveled to her jaw, then down the column of her throat. He kissed the hollow there, feeling her pulse hammer against his lips. “You liked me telling you how you look, how you feel. How wet you got for me.”
She could only nod, a jerky, frantic movement. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
“Say it,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. His teeth grazed her collarbone, not hard, but with enough pressure to make her whimper.
“I liked it,” she choked out. The admission, forced into the open air, seemed to ignite her further. Her skin flushed a deep, beautiful pink.
“Good.” His hands slid under the rumpled hem of her dress again, but this time they moved with a deliberate, teasing slowness. They skated up her thighs, his thumbs drawing lazy circles on her inner skin. He felt her tremble, her muscles quivering with anticipation.
He kissed her mouth again, swallowing her little sighs. His fingers hooked into the sides of her damp panties. In one slow, smooth motion, he drew them down her legs and dropped them to the floor. The air, cool from the AC, kissed her exposed skin. She made a small, vulnerable sound.
“Shhh,” he soothed, his hands returning to her thighs, spreading them gently where she straddled him. He kept his touch agonizingly light, tracing patterns that promised everything and gave nothing. “Just feel. This is for you.”
He kissed her for what felt like hours. Deep, consuming kisses that left them both lightheaded. He kissed the salt from her cheeks. He kissed the line of her eyebrows, the flutter of her closed eyelids. He explored the shell of her ear with his tongue and whispered more of those filthy, beautiful truths.
“You have no idea how pretty you are like this,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. His hands finally drifted inward, his fingertips barely brushing the thatch of curls. “Flushed and fucked-out and mine. All mine.”
She moaned, a low, continuous sound of pure need. Her head fell back, offering her throat. She was arching into his feather-light touch, begging without words.
He gave her more, but never enough. His fingers traced her slick folds, learning every fold, every secret. He circled the tight, furl of muscle that clenched uselessly around nothing. He dipped a single finger into her heat, just an inch, and withdrew it slowly, making her cry out.
“So tight,” he whispered, his own control a physical pain. He brought his glistening finger to her lips. “Taste. Taste yourself for me.”
Her dark eyes, blown wide with lust, locked on his. After a hesitation, her pink tongue darted out, touching the tip of his finger. She tasted herself, her expression one of stunned curiosity. Then she took his finger into her mouth, sucking it clean.
The visual wrecked him. A harsh groan tore from his chest. “Fuck, Alessia.”
He claimed her mouth again, kissing her deeply, sharing the taste of her. His hands resumed their torturous, exquisite exploration. He brought her to the edge again and again with his fingers and his words, his voice a rough, explicit hymn in her ear. He described what he felt, what he saw, what he wanted to do to her. He praised the way she gripped his wrist, the sounds she made, the desperate rock of her hips.
Each time she neared that shattering peak, he’d slow, or change the rhythm, or withdraw just enough to make her sob with frustration.
“Please,” she finally begged, her voice raw and broken. Tears of overwhelming sensation leaked from her closed eyes. “Kimi, please, I need… I can’t…”
He watched her unravel, a beautiful, trembling mess in his lap. He waited until she was right there, poised on that razor’s edge for the fourth time, her body bow-tight and glistening with sweat.
“Come for me again,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Now.”
He gave her what she needed—the perfect, relentless pressure of his thumb. She broke with a silent, shuddering scream, her body convulsing in a series of violent, helpless waves. This one was deeper, slower, a drowning pull. He held her through it, whispering a continuous stream of praise until she collapsed against his chest, utterly spent.
She was boneless, a heap of warm, quivering limbs. Her breathing was a shallow, shaky rhythm against his neck. He held her close, his own heart pounding a frantic tattoo against his ribs. The hard, aching proof of his own need pressed insistently against her thigh. He made no move to act on it.
He simply smoothed her damp curls, pressed a soft kiss to her temple, and let the silent, humming room settle around them. The only sounds were their slowing breaths and the distant, ceaseless sigh of the sea.
She was his. Completely. And he had shown her just enough of what that meant to make her crave the rest. The rest, he knew with a cold, certain clarity, would come later. It would be his, too.