Chapter 7: The Lesson Begins
“Are you okay?” Frank’s voice is low, rough, his breath warm against the wet skin of my neck.
I should pull away. I should say yes and wrap a towel around myself and disappear into the guest room. Instead, I stay pressed against his chest, feeling the thud of his heartbeat through his damp polo shirt.
“I was just… exploring,” I whisper, the word catching in my throat. “I’ve never… I mean, I didn’t know it could feel like that. And I realized…” I swallow hard, shame mixing with the lingering heat between my thighs. “I never actually made a girl feel good. I just took what I wanted and left. I had no idea what it was like from the other side.”
His jaw tightens. I see the muscle jump in his cheek from here. His hands are still on my shoulders, thumbs brushing my collarbones in slow, deliberate strokes.
“How long do you usually spend warming a woman up?” His voice is controlled, but there’s an edge to it, a growl lurking just beneath.
My face burns. I can’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know… maybe a few minutes of kissing? Then I’d just… get to it.”
The silence stretches. Then he lets out a breath that’s almost a snarl.
“A few minutes. Of kissing.” He shakes his head slowly, his gaze boring into mine. “You’ve been doing it wrong your whole life, Alex. And now you’ve got this body.” His hand slides from my shoulder, down the curve of my waist, stopping at my hip. His thumb traces the edge of my hipbone. “You need to learn what a woman actually needs. What she craves.”
His voice drops lower, intimate, almost a growl. “And I intend to show you exactly where a woman feels good.”
My breath catches. My knees feel weak. Every nerve in my new body is screaming at me to stay exactly where I am.
"But this is just coaching, right?" Frank's voice is strained, like he's trying to convince himself as much as me. "I'm just... mentoring you. Showing you what you should have been doing all along."
I nod, not trusting my voice. His hand slides from my hip, tracing the curve of my waist, then up to cup my breast. My breath hitches as his thumb circles my nipple, already peaked from the cool air and the heat between us.
"Women need patience," he murmurs, his voice low and raspy. "They need to be built up slowly." His thumb flicks across my nipple, and a jolt shoots through me, making me gasp. He twists it gently, watching my face. "Feel that?"
"Yes," I whisper, my knees trembling.
He moves his other hand lower, sliding down my stomach, past the Venus tummy that tenses under his touch. His fingers find my clit, slick and swollen, and he circles it with maddening precision. I cry out, gripping his shoulders for support.
"They need pressure here," he says, his finger pressing down, rubbing in slow circles. "And here." His hand leaves my breast and slides between my legs from behind, a finger pressing against my entrance, then slipping inside to find that rough patch of skin. My G-spot. I moan, my head falling back.
"And here." He uses his thumb to trace my puckered hole, pressing against it with firm pressure. My whole body clenches, a wave of heat washing over me.
"Please," I breathe, my voice ragged. "Don't stop. You can't just build me up like this and not... not push me over."
He freezes. His eyes meet mine, dark and conflicted. "That's exactly what you did to every girl you hooked up with, Alex. Got them hot, then left them hanging." He pulls his hands away, stepping back. "I can't. If I keep going, I won't stop."
He turns and walks out, leaving me trembling and aching on the shower floor.
I stay on the floor for what feels like an eternity, my body still humming with unmet need. The steam fades, the tile grows cold against my skin, but I can't move. Every breath I take carries the ghost of his touch, the way his fingers knew exactly where to press, where to circle, where to tease.
Finally, I force myself up. My legs are shaky, my core still aching with emptiness. I turn off the shower, the sudden silence deafening. I grab a towel and wrap it around myself, the fabric rough against my sensitive nipples. I pad out of the bathroom, down the hall, my wet footprints leaving a trail behind me.
I slip into the guest room and twist the lock. The click is loud in the quiet condo. I stand there for a moment, leaning against the door, listening for any sound from Frank's room. Nothing.
I crawl onto the bed, the sheets cool against my heated skin. I close my eyes, and immediately my mind conjures him. Frank, not pulling away. Frank, pushing me back against the shower wall, his mouth on my neck, his hand never stopping. In my head, he doesn't walk out.
In my head, he drops to his knees. He spreads me open with his thumbs and buries his face between my thighs. His tongue is rough and knowing, lapping at my clit until I'm screaming. Then he stands, pins my wrists above my head with one hand, and drives into me with that thick, angry cock. He fucks me until I forget my own name, until all I am is a vessel for his pleasure, until I'm begging him to fill me.
My hand slides between my legs, using my new knowledge to pleasure myself. It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all I have and I work up a sweat as I finger my pussy and rub my clit. Finally, I hit just the right spot and I cry out into the pillow.
This is going to be a long three weeks.