he says. ‘Good.’ Then he eases his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, and sort of pulls them up and over, and I see his erection in all its glory. In all its long, hard, I didn’t know they came that size glory.
‘God, that’s a big cock.’ Those words must have come from me. They can’t have come from anyone else, because there isn’t anyone else here. I can’t stop looking at it. ‘It’s very long.’
‘Is it?’
‘It must be at least eight inches.’
‘At least,’ he says. I can hear the laughter in his voice, and that makes me realise what an idiot I’m making of myself. ‘Are you going to take your dress off?’
‘No.’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Why not?’
‘Because we’re not having that sort of sex,’ I tell him. I’m still staring at his erection, at the thick vein that runs along the underside, at the shape of the end part, and the dark hair at the base. It looks so soft, and it’s the colour of mocha, and before I can stop myself, I touch it.
‘Then what sort of sex are we having?’
I jerk my hand away. ‘Do you have a condom?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then shut up and put it on.’
He puts a hand on my thigh and holds on to me as he lifts his hips, reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, which is made from battered black leather. He flips it open, then tugs out a foil square, a gold one. ‘Do you want to do it?’
‘No,’ I say, and I sort of snort. As if I could.
‘Fine,’ he says. He sounds suddenly resigned, and the temperature of the air seems to drop a good ten degrees. Suddenly I realise how unsexy this is, how forced, but his hand is sliding down my thigh and moving under the hem of my skirt, and I can feel it, strong and warm against my thigh. He fingers swirl a gentle pattern against my skin, over and over, not touching my pussy but close enough for me to want him to.
My body goes all tight and strange. I watch as he bites into the corner of the foil, rips it away, then rolls on the condom one-handed. There’s something unexpectedly erotic about watching him cover himself so shamelessly, as if he’s saying I’m going to fuck you, and more than that, I want to fuck you.
And just like that, I’m persuaded. I can’t stop myself from putting my hands on his shoulders, which are like a pair of wooden ceiling beams. He’s a member of the rowing club, and I’ve seen him down on the river a few times, sitting in a skinny boat and tugging on an oar. It always looked a bit silly. It doesn’t seem silly now. This is what I want, I think to myself, as he moves his hand to the back of my thigh and lifts me. I reach in between us, tug my knickers to the side. I want to fuck you too.
‘Are you sure?’ he asks. His voice is rough, low, wandering over my skin like a second pair of hands.
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Completely, utterly sure. This is what I want, what I need. Quick, meaningless sex with Cal Bailey. Something to ease the ache between my thighs, to show me that I’m not a two, I’m much better than that, and I’m just as uninhibited as the girls I saw back at his house.
The hand under my thigh lifts me higher, and he moves his other hand between my legs, his fingers finding the soft, slippery folds of my pussy. I grip his shoulders tighter. He starts to caress me, to stroke me, and for a second I lose my breath. It scares the crap out of me. I can’t go down that road. I won’t. I let go of his shoulder and grab his wrist. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No, not that. I don’t want that.’
‘You don’t want me to touch you?’
‘I just want to fuck,’ I tell him. I just want to fuck Cal Bailey and make him come, and then I’ll know I’m not a two. I’m not interested in chasing my own orgasm, there’s no point. I reach between us, get hold of his cock, hold it firmly as I move myself onto it. The thick, hard head pushes against me, and for a moment I’m not sure I can do it. God, he’s big.
It’s like ripping off a plaster, I tell myself. You’ve just got to get a grip and do it. So I take a deep breath, and I force myself to stop thinking, and I sit on his cock. My fingers dig into his shoulder in shock as I realise quite how big he is. Oh, god. I can feel him right inside me. I can’t move. I can’t even decide if I like it.
But I don’t have time to waste thinking about it. I get hold of those shoulders again, hold tight, and then I rock forwards, lower myself back onto his erection, trying to find a rhythm without putting too much of my weight on him. I’m skinny at the moment, but I’m still six feet tall. I’m hardly small and dainty. It mattered to Will. I don’t want to know if it matters to Cal.
‘Easy,’ he says. His hands are still under my thighs, and he feels so strong, so steady. He’s like a rock sat there in my soft leather armchair, and for a moment I almost convince myself that it doesn’t matter to him. Then he moves his hands up to my waist, my skirts gathering around his wrists. ‘Don’t do that,’ he says, when I try to tug it down. ‘I want to look at your pussy.’
My pulse kicks up a beat. ‘Why?
‘I like looking at pussy,’ he says. ‘I like looking at pussy that’s got cock in it, especially if it’s mine. And I’d particularly like to see my cock in your pussy.’
‘Oh,’ I manage, as those words, and the way he says them, so easily, so casually, sends a lightning bolt of arousal shooting straight to my clit. I squirm against it, trying to calm it down. ‘Are you sure about that?’ I keep tugging at my skirt, but he doesn’t let go, doesn’t let me have my way.
‘Verity,’ he says, looking at me. ‘You either want to fuck, or you don’t. Which is it?’
‘I want to fuck,’ I blurt out. ‘I want to.’
‘Right,’ he says. ‘Then let’s fuck, shall we?’ And with that, he lifts me off his knee. His cock slides out of me, all the way out. I can feel my pussy clinging onto it, the sensation entirely unexpected, as he moves me away.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Fucking you,’ he says, as if it’s obvious. He reverses our positions, plonks me down on the chair, pushing my dress up and pulling me forwards until I’m slumped in a completely undignified position. ‘Open your legs.’
My body obeys him, it does, even as my brain screams out no, not like this, and I think about all the ways in which this could go wrong. It’s so much harder to fake it in this position.
‘Wider,’ he says, as he puts himself between my thighs. His erection is right there, sticking up, and it looks so bloody rude. ‘Come on.’
I can’t seem to speak. There are plenty of words inside my head, but I can’t get any of them out of my mouth. I simply stare at him, mute, as he wraps a hand around the base of his big cock, puts the other one on my right knee, and finds the entrance to my vagina with far too much ease.
He slides in enough to make me squeak. ‘There’s that noise again,’ he says. ‘Are you loud when you come, Verity? I bet you are. I bet you’re a screamer.’
