Watching Him Back 4.6

I remembered my login.

The couch is just large enough that I can straddle my boyfriend’s lap. Crispin’s hands wander over my skin as I kiss his mouth, pull me closer when I grind against him. Our skin burns where it touches. I’m on fire, I’m so hard it hurts. Crispin’s cock curves up against the cleft of my ass. It’s still scary, but that portion of my brain shouting, This will really hurt! gets smaller and more garbled with every taste of Crispin’s tongue.

With lips still pressed to mine Crispin fumbles for the lube. “You ready?”

“I’m still ready,” I respond, lying less this time.

"Then take off your underwear."

"You take it off," I respond. It's kind of fun to be a brat.

Crispin pushes me to standing and slips his fingers into the band of my jockstrap. His dark head bends as he pulls the elastic lower, lower, slowly until the base of my shaft peeks from the top. Crispin kisses me there, pulls the jock lower, puts his lips to the newly exposed flesh, and then pushes my underwear all the way to my feet. My cock would have slapped the underside of his chin if he hadn't caught between his full lips.

"That is so fucking sexy," I exhale, knowing that his ears will turn pink. I just need to let him know, because in the back of my mind I'm convinced that I'm about to have the worst sex of my life, but Crispin needs to understand that no matter what happens to me or my fragile virgin ass, I still want him. I'll always want him.

I wait until I feel that climax-ready tingle in my balls before lifting Crispin's mouth from my erection. "Get ready to fuck me," I say with a quick kiss. I push him back to sitting on the couch; Crispin rolls on a condom and I squirt so much lube over him that it runs onto the cushions.

"Is there any left?" Crispin jokes as I toss the bottle away.

"There's another bottle," I respond flippantly as I resume my place in his lap. God, but he's hard. Crispin isn't huge—he's the perfect size for the rest of his body—but it already feels like I'll be trying to sit on a baseball bat.

Watching my face, Crispin's brow furrows. "Aaron, we don't have to—" he starts, but I cut him off.

"Best I ever have," I remind him. He nods, and I position myself over his pole. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god I can't, I can't, I think, but gravity pulls me so that the tip presses against the opening. Crispin's hands come to help, so I wrap my arms around his neck and let him guide me. I try to remember all the advice I read. Relax. Push out. Breathe deep. It seems like ages until the head of Crispin's cock pops inside me, and then I have to clench my fingers in order to keep from leaping off the couch.

"I'll go slow," Crisin whispers, and I nod. He's so gentle, running his hands over my back, kissing my chest right over my pounding heart that it barely registers when I'm sitting fully in his lap. I unwind myself from him a little, sitting back—that stings—to look him in the eye. Crispin, however, has his eyes shut and is biting his lip. His abs flex, made shiny by the lube and our sweat; I can tell he wants to thrust, to fuck me like I've fucked him before, and it's taking all his self-control to stay still while I get accustomed to his size in me.

Pain or no, that makes me want him to move.

"Go ahead," I say, and raise up just enough that he can lift his hips. We both exhale at that first withdrawal and thrust, him in ecstasy, me in agony. Crispin withdraws again; I repeat my mantra. Relax and push out. He thrusts. Breathe deep. He pulls back. This time I sink farther down on him, trying to get more comfortable.

It hurts, it still hurts so badly, but I know he's being careful and I don't want him to stop. I lean back and brace myself on his knees, working his shaft with my hole. Crispin’s hands guide me; his eyes are still closed, and I briefly wonder if he has to go through this every time I'm in him. Almost as soon as the thought enters my mind I feel Crispin tilting my hips; it's like the clouds open because suddenly his cock is rubbing over something that feels really, really fucking good.

“Oh, my god, yes,” I say.

Crispin grins up at me. “We got it?”

I roll my hips to feel it again. “Fuck yeah, we did.”

Crispin wraps his arms around my waist and lets me ride him; his teeth are on my chest and his harsh breathing takes over my ears. This is tiring—my thighs burn—but now that it feels good I don’t want to stop. Until I get a cramp and have to pause. Crispin laughs at me, but he massages my leg with his strong hands.

“I don’t think I can be a power bottom,” I admit, leaning at a weird angle to relieve the pain. “I’m frail.”

“Let me scoot so you can put your knees up here,” Crispin offers, ever the thoughtful one, and we rearrange so he’s lying on the couch and I’m kneeling over him.