The Big Sister - Part One (5 page)

“I want you to relax and enjoy the ride, so to speak,” he murmured, reaching around behind me and flicking the clasp to my bra open on the first try.

“You’re very good,” I remarked, thinking about one of my coworkers regaling us with a tale of the time her boyfriend got reduced to tears after trying, and failing, for nearly twenty minutes to get her out of her bra.

“I’ve had some practice,” Marcus admitted mildly, slipping my bra off completely and cupping one of my breasts in his hand. “You’re so beautiful.”

I flushed, but I didn’t know if it had more to do with the compliment or with what his casual touch against my breast was doing to me. I was incredibly aroused just from him touching me there. At the club, no one was allowed to touch the dancers. It surprised me that I could get turned on from such a simple action.

“Thank you.” I leaned even farther into his touch, practically crawling into his lap, and hoping I didn’t seem too eager. I wanted more, but I didn’t know what more was. I had to depend on this kind man to show me, to give me the pleasure I craved.

“Feels good?” His voice was so low and rough that it made me shudder. I didn’t trust my voice to speak anymore, so I just nodded.

Marcus rubbed his thumb over my nipple, and it instantly responded to him by hardening into a sensitive nub, like a bundle of nerve endings. He saw what that did to me, saw my lips part to allow my tongue to wet them, felt the way my chest heaved in a breath of air beneath his palm. He moved on, gave my other breast equal attention, tweaking and pinching my other nipple so that it matched the first.

By that time, I was panting, moving my hips forward in little thrusts that I didn’t understand, not caring how it might look or what Marcus might think of me. I needed more contact — that inexplicable “more.”

“Lie back and relax,” Marcus said, helping me to settle on my back on the bed, tracing the shapes of my breasts with his hands, then trailing them down my stomach. I arched my back, and he took the opportunity to hook his fingers beneath my panties and work them down my legs, over my cowboy boots.

I cringed a little bit under his steady gaze. No one, and I meant no one, had ever seen me naked down there. I was strident about my privacy at home and at the club. Even if some of my fellow dancers waltzed around the dressing room completely naked, I never did, preferring the solitude of a bathroom stall to do my costume changes.

“Does it — does it look all right?” I asked, hating myself for sounding childish and stupid. If it didn’t look all right, I would’ve fully expected Marcus to run screaming from the room. Was it a positive sign that he hadn’t?

“Faith, you’re perfect,” he said. “Believe me. You have nothing to worry about in this department.” He slid a finger between my two fleshy lips, and a shameful sound escaped my throat. It felt so good, and Marcus seemed to know exactly where to touch to elicit the strangest sounds from me.

My friends at the club had cackled at male attempts to locate the clitoris, but Marcus apparently had a map. He circled it, pressed against it lightly, flicked just the pad of his finger over it again and again until I lost all caring for what I might sound like or look like. I trusted that the penthouse suite of the hotel would have decent soundproofing.

When Marcus reached up to continue his assault on my nipples even as his motions against my pussy increased, it was heaven and hell all wrapped up into one. I squirmed away from his touches just as often as I drove myself toward them, wanting as much contact as I could get.

It was all feeling so incredible that it hardly registered when he inched one of his fingers inside of my body.

“Is that okay?” he asked me quietly, studying my face. At that point, all I could do was move my head up and down. I wasn’t even sure if it was a nod. “You tell me if it ever isn’t, all right? Damn, you’re so wet.”

He lifted his fingers and showed me the evidence backing that statement, the digits gleaming in the light with the liquid that he’d drawn from my body. Was I some well of juices, or what?

Marcus replaced his finger inside my body, working it in and out in time to his ministrations over my clit. My body accepted him and adapted, and my pleasure only grew.

Suddenly, I became aware of exactly what I wanted.

“I want you inside of me,” I blurted out, grabbing his wrist and stilling his hand.

“I am inside of you,” he reminded me, wriggling his finger to prove it.

“No, I want you,” I reiterated, blushing. Was he really going to make me say it? “I want your … your cock inside of me.”

“That’s easily remedied,” he said, grinning down at me.

“And I want to see you naked,” I said. If he was taking orders, I could give them.

“Done and done.” Faster than I would’ve thought he could do it, Marcus was out of his clothes and nearly inside of me. “I’m going to do this very slowly. I don’t want to hurt you. I want nothing but pleasure for you, okay?”

That was definitely something I could agree to, and yet, the feeling of the tip of his cock at my entrance was both enthralling and frightening. My breathing quickened as Marcus pressed forward, my pussy gradually stretching to accommodate him. It was more than I anticipated — much more — and I still wasn’t sure that my body could handle everything that Marcus was about to give me.

But he was good at what he did, apparently, and I only experienced the mildest discomfort as he continued his relentless march forward, hilting himself inside of me. We both stayed still at this point, our breathing perfectly in time with each other, and I realized that my anticipation of pain had far outstripped what actually happened.

“Are you all right?” Marcus asked me, sounding pained. I swallowed about five times before nodding quickly. “I need to hear you say it, Faith.”

“I’m fine,” I gasped. “Promise.”

“You’re so tight,” he rasped.

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good.” He bent down to kiss my forehead. “Promise.”

He withdrew just as slowly as he’d penetrated, and then pressed forward again. It wasn’t nearly as harrowing this time — my body was learning to accept his, to draw it inward, to enjoy the sensation of being filled to the brim with him.

Marcus thrust in and out again, but this time, he rubbed my clit as he did it. Oh — I saw stars. My world shattered and exploded.

This — this was sex. This was not only sex, this was good sex. All of my coworkers talked and laughed about the horrors of dry, listless humping, but I was wet and primed and excited for each of Marcus’ subsequent thrusts. This was damn good.

“More,” I breathed, and he immediately obliged.

We fell into a rhythm, and pretty soon, his cock inside of me felt just as good as his fingers outside of me. I grappled at him, trying to find somewhere my hands wanted to be, but they wanted to be everywhere. I liked to touch his hard biceps, straining from holding himself over me. I liked to trail my fingers down his pectorals, to his stomach, examining each flex of his muscles, coordinating with his thrusts.

Soon, though, I couldn’t focus on anything other than what was building deep in my core.

I knew, on some level, what was in store for me. I knew what was coming. But that didn’t mean that I knew how to react when, all of a sudden, the sweetest, most powerful orgasm ripped through my body like an explosion. I screamed, held on to Marcus’ hair as tightly as I could, probably hurting him, then raked my nails down his back. I squeezed his midsection with my legs, tossed my head, arched my back, thrashed and moaned and whined my way through something I’d never shared with anyone else.

It was glorious.

“Christ, Faith, I can’t hang on,” Marcus gasped. He pulled out suddenly — I was immediately bereft of that pleasurable full feeling — and pulled on his cock. “I’m coming!”

Droplets of warmth showered over my body. Fascinated, I dragged my hand through the burgeoning puddle of essence. It was thick, vaguely sticky, but not at all unpleasant.

Suddenly boneless and weak, Marcus flopped down beside me, both of us fighting for our breaths as we stared up at the ceiling of the penthouse.

I was flushed, panting, hoarse, sweaty, and utterly, utterly sated, as if I’d just been at the table of a feast for the senses. The throes of my orgasm faded into a pleasant glow, and I couldn’t stop smiling even if I wanted to.

“So how was your first time?” Marcus asked, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at me. His face and chest still shone with sweat, but his breathing was almost back to normal.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better first time,” I said sincerely. If I ever got around to sharing how I lost my virginity with my coworkers at the club, a solid two-thirds of them would probably die of jealousy right on the spot. “Was I … was I any good?”

Marcus’ bark of laughter made me jump a little. “Any good? You were marvelous, Faith. Incredible. A natural. Watching you enjoy yourself was almost better than my orgasm. That good.”

“If you say so,” I said dubiously. This kind of praise lavished on me made me a little uncomfortable. Was I really good in bed without having any experience? All I’d done was trust Marcus to make everything right. Was trust the big secret to good sex?

“I do say so,” he said, pulling me to him and kissing me. “Let’s get cleaned up, and let me take you home before you turn into a pumpkin, young one.”

“I can catch a cab,” I scoffed. “There’s no need for you to leave your comfortable suite.”

“I insist.” It seemed that when Marcus made up his mind, there was no going against it. I resigned myself to the fact that this wonderful man was going to see me home, and hopped into the shower with him.

The drive to my apartment was about twenty minutes, but we spent it chatting like two old friends. I understood why Parker had kept him around for all this time. He was so easy to talk to — and handsome, to boot. It was too bad that he was leaving town that next afternoon. I would’ve liked to entertain him again — with all the things that entailed.

“This is me,” I said, looking a little forlornly up at my building. It was no hotel penthouse suite, but almost everyone I loved and cared about was inside, and that was more important to me than a nice view.

“I wanted to thank you for such a wonderful night,” Marcus said, taking me by the chin and kissing me briefly on the lips. “I had no idea when I met Parker at the club that it was all going to turn out like this.”

“You’re thanking me?” I said, drawing away and laughing. “I should be thanking you. For the cherry popping services, you know.”

Marcus guffawed and kissed me once more before withdrawing his hand from his pocket. In it was the thickest stack of bills I’d ever witnessed.

“For you,” he said simply, holding them out.

“All of this?” I said, unable to do anything but gape. “Marcus, I can’t accept this. This is way too much.” Even the regular going rate felt like it would be too much. Even if I never saw Marcus again romantically, we’d always share this night. All men who followed had very big shoes to fill.

“You have to accept this,” he said, his tone inviting no arguments. “Isn’t the client always right?”

I shook my head. “You have no idea what this means to me. What this will mean to my life.”

“It’s just money,” Marcus said, and I envied his ability to utter those words. Money was everything. It would open doors to my brother’s future that I was afraid were slowly closing.

I kissed him quickly before throwing my arms around him, giving him the most heartfelt hug I’d ever given a client.

“Thank you, then,” I said, trying to stuff the bills into my purse and discovering, to my utter disbelief, that it was too fat for the clasp on the bag to click shut. I tucked it beneath my arm for safekeeping, though I doubted I’d be able to lose it between the car and the door to my building.