It feels good.
I carefully part myself, dipping my finger inside. Encountering nothing but slippery wet heat. My mind fixates on Crew. His face. His voice. His hands.
With tentative fingers, I search, sliding through my folds, tentatively circling my entrance before I slip a finger inside, wincing. Then pull it out.
Push it back in.
Oh. That felt good too.
What it would be like, to have Crew kiss me? He has a nice mouth. Full lips. He smells good too. He’s strong. Muscular. I already know how it feels to be in his arms, but what would be like if he really hugged me? Held me close and ran his fingers through my hair? Pressed his mouth against my temple in the softest, sweetest kiss?
I tremble just thinking about it.
When my fingers brush against a distended piece of flesh at the top, I realize it’s my clitoris. I brush it again, a soft sigh falling from my lips when I do so. I keep doing it, circling it. Rubbing it. My breath comes faster, and when I squeeze my thighs together around my hand, that feels even better. The pressure. The intensity.
I roll over onto my stomach, my hand still between my thighs, my fingers busy as I basically dry hump the bed. The heel of my hand. I rock against the mattress, my eyes flying open to catch my reflection yet again.
I’m a mess. My hair is in my eyes, my skin damp with sweat, my breasts swinging, my nipples hard. I arch my back and press my hips to the bed, grinding my palm against my clit and a choked sound leaves me.
Have you ever been kissed?
He whispers it in my ear in my imagination, his mouth brushing my skin. I shiver and shake my head, wishing he was the one who would kiss me first. His lips are soft and warm and that first glide of his tongue against mine…
He pushes my hand away and replaces it with his own, stroking me. He’s so confident. So in command of my body and I let him take control. Just like I always do with everyone and everything in my life.
With Crew, I don’t resent it though.
I want it.
I’m on my back once more, my fingers frantic, my breathing harsh as I seek out the unfamiliar sensation that I can feel growing inside me. It’s almost scary, how big it seems, how mysterious. Almost as if I don’t know what it is, yet I do.
But I’m not afraid. I chase after it, all the air sticking in my throat, my limbs straining, my legs shaking as I stroke and stroke, faster and faster. A gasp leaves me when I go completely still.
So fucking sexy, Birdy.
And then I’m quaking, my entire body consumed, a keening cry leaving my lips as the orgasm slams into me. It’s as if I have no control of my body and the climax stretches on for long, endless seconds. Just as fast as it hits, it’s gone, and I’m left a shaking, sweaty mess. Barely able to catch my breath, my heart beating so hard I swear I’m going into cardiac arrest.
That’s what all the fuss is about. Imagine what would happen if someone else gave me an orgasm? Like Crew?
I squeeze my eyes closed, imagining him in this bed with me, his mouth finding mine, his fingers between my thighs, working their magic.
“Oh God,” I whisper out loud, staring blindly at the ceiling.
Maybe there’s nothing wrong with wanting a boy like Crew. Maybe I deserve to fall in love and go out on dates and kiss a boy for hours and let him touch me wherever he wants. What’s wrong with that?
Nothing. Nothing at all. Like Crew said, we’re just normal horny teenagers looking to get off.
I mean, that’s not something I would ever say, but he has a point.
Glancing around my room, I realize I’m not satisfied. I’m still restless. Even a little frustrated. I want to experience this feeling again.
I want it all.
With Crew.
FIFTEEN
WREN
I climb out of the car, wincing when the bitterly cold air hits my cheeks. It’s abnormally brisk, despite the bright sunshine overhead, and I probably didn’t dress right for the weather. I smooth my hands over the fitted leather skirt my mother bought me a few months ago that I immediately shoved into the back of my closet. I’ve never worn anything like this, so I don’t know what possessed her to think I’d wear it.
But I woke up this morning with a new resolve. I’m branching out. Doing new and different things. I don’t know exactly what those things are yet, but seeking independence is one of them. Hence the leather skirt, which really reveals nothing but still feels daring, along with the cream-colored cashmere turtleneck sweater, which emphasizes the size of my breasts. Normally I’d shy away from an outfit like this because I don’t want to draw attention to myself.
There’s nothing about this morning—or myself—that feels normal.