I doubt he realizes he’s even saying them out loud.

Not Kip—he has too much self-control, and he’s kept me firmly at arm’s length the past few weeks. There is no way he would purposely allow this to happen, unless…

Unless he really wanted me to. Or I was making him crazy, which I doubt, because—look at me. I’m the opposite of the girls who hang out at the rugby house. I’m wholesome and studious and, well, virginal.

The feel of Kip’s hard, warm skin beneath my gliding fingertips is amazing. Warm, hot, and cool—all at the same time.

Him lying here motionless, allowing me to explore—it must be driving him insane; even I know that. I’m playing with fire and we both know it.

We should not be doing this.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m the one with my hand practically down Kip’s pants, running my palm along the happy trail I discovered under the soft fabric of his shirt.

I love those.

I think they’re so sexy and masculine.

He obviously doesn’t shave his junk like a lot of guys these days do. Metrosexuals.

His entire body stiffens when I skim the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, trail a path with my hand, back and forth along the fabric. Teasing as I debate what the hell to do next.

One thing is for sure: I should not be doing this.

The thing is…I’ve never done this before. Not with a guy like this. They were boys, really, and it was mostly just making out and some heavy petting. Got fingered only once, in high school, with a kid named Devon, who was just as awkward as I was. Fumbling around in the dark with all our clothes on—two virgins who stayed that way—the closest I’ve gotten to having sex was him sticking his hand down my pants and shoving two fingers up my—

“Lower. Oh fuck, Teddy…”

My name on his lips.

It spurs me on, and suddenly, all I want to do is touch it. No harm in that, right? He obviously wants me to. Feel it. Maybe grip it, run my hand up and down its hard length (like I’ve seen in the few pornos I’ve snuck peeks at) just to see what it’s like.

To hear what he sounds like when I do.

So I know.

I want to know what the other girls know, what it feels like to turn a guy on. What it feels like to make a dick hard. To make him come. The weight of a dick in my hands.

Yeah, that might sound gross, but I’m twenty-one and I have no clue what it feels like to hold one.

I don’t want to be clueless anymore.

Kip seems to be a willing participant now that his dick is rock solid and my hand has somehow gotten wedged inside his boxers. He shifts his hips on the bed, gives a little thrust upward. Even without seeing them, I know he’s flexing his thick thighs.

Ugh, those thighs make me stupid.

For weeks, I’ve been trying not to notice how they flex when he walks, how track pants and jeans don’t quite fit properly because the muscles there bulge.

His giant, callused hand eases out from its spot under my body—I’ve been lying on it this entire time—and creeps to my ass. Palm splayed, fingers gripping my butt cheeks. Squeeze.

Leisurely, little by little, it makes its way up my back, under my shirt, slow circles along my spine. Up, up. Down under the thin cotton of my leggings, middle finger blazing a hot trail to my crack.

With my head on his chest and his beard flirting with the crown of my head, I finally snake my eager palm all the way inside his pants. It bumps the tip of his penis, its head straining against the layer of underwear, and I trace it with the tip of my finger. Run the pad of it round and round then go lower, feeling my way to the underside.

Trail along the shaft.

Entire palm closing over his…uh, balls.

Kip inhales again. Groans, fingers digging into my round butt cheeks. Breath coming hard and fast above me.

Timidly I stroke him through the material, not quite brave enough to stroke his actual…dick. Or touch it. Or—

I gasp when that thick finger of his that was grazing my rear is now firmly between my crack, easing its way to my pussy, causing my legs to ease apart.

“Get on top,” he rumbles.

“Wha…?”

Swiftly, two arms are pulling me, rolling me, resting me on top, stiff erection cradled between my thighs. Large, masculine hands gripping my hips.

Pushing at my leggings.

“This would feel so much better if you pulled your pants down.”

Wonderful idea.

Fantastic idea.

Two sets of arms and hands fumble to remove my leggings until they’re low enough for me to kick off. Until I’m lying on top of Kip in nothing but a flimsy t-shirt and skimpy thong.

“Let’s take yours off too,” I hear myself say. Desperate to feel every inch of him without actually…feeling every inch of him.

I lift my hips as he shucks his track pants off, marveling at how intimate the whole thing is. We’re not naked, but somehow we might as well be.

This is Kip, the guy who has become my friend in the past few weeks. The guy who has given me dating advice—albeit shitty, but advice nonetheless.

Kip, whose large, hairy body reaches for mine once his pants disappear into the bedroom. I hear them hit the floor somewhere in the distance at the same time his arms pull me down.

Line our bodies up like it’s second nature.

Kip’s hips begin a slow revolution until that dense, throbbing tip of him finds the fold between my legs and settles there.

“Oh my…fucking…god.” Kip exhales when his hands are back on my body, skimming gently over the globes of my butt. Over the back of my thighs. Up my shirt. Ribcage.

The sides of my breasts. Wanting to cup them but holding back.

“Can I touch them, Teddy? Just for a second?”

I want him to—so bad.

“Please.” His plea is a whisper, a sexy, aching whimper.

“Okay.” Yes, yes…!

“Sit up. Straddle me.”

Kip adjusts himself on the mattress, taking me along with him, rising to a seated position. If we were naked, I’d be fully impaled on his cock.

I experiment, swiveling my hips.

He groans.

Grabs my shirt by the hem and lifts it all the way off.

In the dark, giant man paws find my shoulders, float their way down my biceps, then—

“Jesus, Teddy, your tits,” he moans, palming them both, thumbs circling my stiff nipples. My mouth drops open as my head tips back, his lips and tongue flicking my skin. Mouth latching on and sucking, only coming up for air to say, “These are so perfect. I could suck on these all night.”

“They’re not perfect.” My hands brace on his hard thighs for support as he continues to pull and draw my nipple into his greedy mouth. “You can’t even see w-what they l-look like.”

He lifts his head, beard scratching my chest. “I don’t have to see these tits to know they’re perfect, Teddy.”

My arms go around his neck and I let him devour me, the throbbing between my legs unsatisfied. My lower half rakes back and forth over his dick, pushing and dragging and desperate for the tip to dig itself deeper into my pussy.

Somehow, our mouths fuse. Our first kiss, in the pitch black of his freezing cold bedroom, in the middle of the night—is frantic and hot and wet and dirty.

Tongues and lips and teeth. Beard scraping my face.

“Let me push your underwear to the side.” His raspy tone is desperate. “It’ll feel so good.”

That’s flirting with danger.

“Kip…” I might be protesting, but when his thumb reaches between us to push the barrier of my panties aside, we both sigh with relief. He was so right—it does feel amazing. So amazing, so amazing. Euphoric.

“I wanna be inside you so bad, fucking you.” He pants, mimicking sex, pelvis gyrating, hands working my hips.

“No you don’t. You’re talking crazy.”

“No, Teddy, I want to fuck you—I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you.” He’s repeating himself and sounds half crazed, nothing like I’m used to. He is losing control of the situation and dragging me down with him—except I’m all too eager to follow. I’m on top, dry humping him.

“Stop begging me, Kip.” Before I lose control too.