Brutal Precious

“Isis –” I grab her hands and look her in the eyes. “Listen to me; I can’t…I can’t give you all of what I want. I’m just starting to rebuild myself. So. This is your last chance. You should find someone who isn’t so broken.”

She frowns, and leans into my chest, murmuring.

“That sounds so boring.”

“I’m serious, Isis, you deserve better –”

“And so am I!” She looks up, eyes flaring and bottom lip set stubbornly. “I don’t care about what you can or can’t give me. I just want you. Even if you’re broken. Nobody else. Just Jack.”

The sudden surge of excitement to my heart at her words is nigh-painful. I crumble like a dry sandcastle against her wave, edging her down onto the bed with hasty force. I freeze and sit up, afraid she’ll be angry, or frightened and shaking, but she laughs and holds her arms out instead.

“C’mon, butthead.”

Her hair’s splayed out against the pillows and her blouse is hiked up, showing a bare wisp of her creamy hipbone. With soft slowness, I lean down and kiss her exposed hip, nudging the blouse higher with my nose and kissing upwards. She giggles, but they quickly turn to pleased mewls as I reach the edge of her bra. I pull up and look her in the eyes, tugging at it.

“This comes off.”

She quirks a brow and sits up, grabbing the hem of my shirt. “So does this. Only fair.”

I pull it off in one swift movement, and watch her eyes light up as she takes me in. She rests her lips against my skin, kissing each contour and indent of muscle, and when she reaches the lowest part of me I can’t suppress my audible breath-hitch, or the subtle spasm in my jeans.

“Isis –”

She buries her nose in my skin and sniffs. “It smells good. You smell good, like honey.”

I growl and push her gently back on the pillows. “And you,” I inhale her wrist, her hair, between her br**sts, which earns me a squeal and a bop on the head. “You smell like summer and cinnamon. I could eat you. I will eat you,” I add. Isis flushes.

“I-If I had known you were into cannibalism, I would n-not have agreed to this in the first place.”

“Too late,” I smirk, licking her neck. “You’re mine now. Bon appetite.”

Isis gives a little sigh, tensing her shoulder when she gets too ticklish. We laugh, and I pull her blouse off, slowly, tentatively. She can’t look at me, eyes darting this way and that to avoid my gaze as I take her in.

“May I?” I ask. She nods, lip set stubbornly again. I run my fingers over her stomach, milk-smooth and soft, with paler lines running vertical around her belly button.

“They’re gross,” She determines. “Stretch marks. Sorry.”

I lean in and kiss them, each one, kiss up to her wrist burn scars, kiss every scar I can see, and she gives a soft cry, arms suddenly darting out to pull me up and kiss me fiercely, needy and hot and more eager than ever before, and then she’s on top of me, kissing my collarbone and my neck, my arms, my chest, and down to my navel again in a whirlwind of soft lips and warm breath.

“Isis, you –”

“Shhhush up,” she says quickly, unbuttoning my jeans with alarming skill and yanking them down to my ankles. She smirks at my black boxers and the obvious tent in them, then looks up at me.

“That is entirely your doing,” I offer. She just hums happily and rubs her hand against it in response. And I dissolve. I’ve imagined this, over and over, but nothing can compare to the real thing, to the real Isis, smirking and flushed and half-naked, playing with me through my boxers. It’s all my dirty fantasies come to life, all the aching need for her touch culminating in one moment.

But no. This is not how our first time should go. I flip us over, and she squeals, a pout on her lips. I kiss it away between murmurs.

“There will be…plenty of time…for you to tease me,” I say, one long kiss for each pause. “But tonight…this is about you…and what I can do for you.”

“You can lay down and let me figure out what this dick fuss is all about,” She huffs.

“Like I said, there’ll be time for that. But right now I want to make you comfortable. And then make you cum. In that order.”

She squeaks and hides her face behind her hands. “Don’t say stupid shit like that, idiot.”

I smirk and unclasp her bra, inching it aside.

“H-Hey!” She protests, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t look!”

“You got to see mine,” I lament.

“That’s because yours are small and pathetic.”

“It’s true,” I glance my lips across the thin skin above her chest, tracing her veins. “Compared to what you’re hiding under your arms, mine are very underwhelming.”

“And floppy,” she adds, more out of spite than anything. I’m very toned.

“And floppy,” I agree. She relaxes slowly, so slowly, and finally her hard edge evaporates, a blush replacing it as she hastily puts her forearms over her eyes.

“Fine. Look.”

The ordinary person would overlook her considerable assets, because that’s exactly what she wanted them to do. Her clothes were always a little loose, one size too big on purpose. But I’d caught enough glimpses to guess at the truth, and now I confirm it. Soft-looking, round, and perfectly teardrop-shaped, with the right breast barely noticeably larger than the left. They quiver, and it’s then I realize she’s shaking.

“Hey,” I say. “Isis, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “They’re weird.”

“Look at me, Isis.”

She peeks over her arms.

“Can we agree that I’ve seen many br**sts in my life?” I ask. She frowns and sighs.

“I know, I get it. They’re really weird compared to the hundreds of other perfect ones you’ve seen –”

“They are beautiful.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not.” I lean down and kiss the swell of one. “They are the most adorable br**sts I’ve ever seen. And they’re turning me on something fierce. Your whole body has me on point. But I’m sure you can see that.”

I smirk, and she squirms pointedly, her fingers scrabbling for her jean shorts. I undo the top button for her, and then she stops me.

“Um. Wrap your willy. Um. Before you get silly.”

I chuckle before turning and rummaging through my discarded jacket. I pull a condom from my pocket.

“I always carry one with me,” I say. “Habit.”

She frowns, no doubt displeased at the thought of the others who helped formed that habit. I lean in and kiss her neck, moving to her ear and murmuring.

“Oh, lovely. Don’t give me that face. For months now you’re the only one I’ve thought about using it on.”

She blushes and squirms, a good sign, and I lick the shell of her ear.

“You’re the only one. God Isis, you’re the only one I’ve wanted for so long –”

She cuts me off and kisses me, her tongue darting out and mine eager to meet it. I pull back, fingers dancing down her tensing and untensing stomach. She helps me pull off her shorts, and when she throws them they land on her computer and we both laugh. I pause at the hem of her underwear – white with a green ribbon - and look up. She isn’t shaking, which is positive. She isn’t rigid or tense.