First Connection

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Dave’s fingers drummed against the armrest of Ana’s couch, the rhythmic *thump-thump-thump* betraying the storm of nerves under his skin. He’d never been this close to a woman like this—hell, he’d never been *this* close to anyone, period. The tattoos snaking down his arms, the shaved head, the permanent scowl that made bouncers at bars nod in respect—none of that changed the fact that he was a goddamn virgin at thirty-seven, sweating through his shirt like a teenager on prom night.

Ana, perched beside him with one leg tucked under her, watched him with a smirk that was equal parts amused and predatory. She’d known Dave for months—known the way his rough exterior hid something softer, something *hungry*—and tonight, she’d finally decided to do something about it. “You’re thinking too hard,” she murmured, reaching out to trace a finger along the inked curve of his forearm. “Relax. This isn’t a test.”

Dave swallowed. “Feels like one.”

Ana laughed, low and warm, and shifted closer until her thigh pressed against his. “Then let’s make it easy.” Her hand slid up his chest, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt before he could protest. “First rule: no clothes. They’re just in the way.”

Dave’s breath hitched as she peeled the fabric off his shoulders, exposing the broad expanse of his chest, the swirls of black ink that told stories he never spoke aloud. His muscles tensed under her touch, not from fear, but from the sheer *novelty* of it—her nails scraping lightly over his nipples, her palm flat against his sternum, pushing him back against the couch cushions. “Ana—”

“Shh.” She straddled his lap before he could finish, her dress riding up her thighs as she settled against him. The heat of her, even through the fabric, was maddening. “You talk too much.” Her fingers found the waistband of his jeans, popping the button with practiced ease. “Let me do the work.”

Dave’s cock was already half-hard, straining against his boxers as Ana tugged the denim down his hips. He lifted his ass to help, his tattoos flexing with the movement, and then—*fuck*—her hand was there, cupping him through the cotton, her thumb pressing just hard enough to make his breath stutter. “Jesus,” he groaned, his head falling back against the couch.

Ana hummed in approval, dragging her nails up the inside of his thighs. “Good. Now *look* at me.” When he obeyed, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled, freeing his cock in one smooth motion.

It wasn’t the first dick Ana had seen, but there was something *thrilling* about this one—thick, heavy, the head already flushed dark with blood, a bead of precome glistening at the tip. Dave’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, like he was afraid to touch her, afraid to *move*. She wrapped her fingers around the base, giving him a slow, experimental stroke. “See? Not so scary.”

Dave’s laugh was shaky. “Speak for yourself.”

Ana grinned. “Oh, baby. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

She started slow, her grip firm but not tight, her thumb swirling over the slick crown with every upward pull. Dave’s hips jerked involuntarily, a broken sound escaping his throat. “Fuck—Ana—”

“That’s it,” she coaxed, leaning in until her lips brushed his ear. “Let me hear you.” Her other hand found his, lacing their fingers together, pressing his palm flat against her sternum. “Feel that? My heart’s racing too.”

Dave’s breath came in rough gasps as she picked up the pace, her strokes growing longer, her wrist twisting just right on the upstroke. His cock was *hard*—throbbing, leaking, the veins standing out stark against his skin. Ana watched, fascinated, as his abs tightened, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding still. “You’re doing so good,” she murmured, her voice a dark purr. “Just let go.”

Dave’s free hand found her hip, his grip bruising. “I don’t—I don’t know if I can—”

Ana tightened her fist around his cock, her thumb pressing into the underside just below the head. “Yes, you can.” She stroked him faster, her palm slick with precome, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. “Come on, Dave. Give it to me.”

His back arched off the couch as the first wave hit, his cock pulsing violently in her grip. Ana didn’t stop, didn’t slow down—she milked him through it, her hand a blur, her breath hot against his neck. “That’s it, *that’s it*—” Dave’s fingers crushed hers as he came, his entire body locking up, his cock jerking again and again as thick ropes of come splattered across her fingers, her wrist, dripping down to pool in her palm.

Ana made a satisfied noise, her grip loosening as the last spasms faded. Dave’s chest heaved, his skin slick with sweat, his tattoos glowing under the lamplight. She brought her come-coated hand to her mouth, her tongue darting out to taste him. “Mmm. Salty.”

Dave’s laugh was breathless, disbelieving. “You’re *fucking* insane.”

Ana wiped the rest of him onto her thigh, then leaned in to kiss him—slow, deep, her lips smudged with his release. When she pulled back, her smile was soft. “And you’re *fucking* adorable.”

Dave exhaled, his body boneless, his hand still tangled with hers. He’d never felt anything like this—the raw, electric *connection* of it, the way his skin still buzzed where she’d touched him. “That was…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Just the beginning,” Ana promised, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. She shifted off his lap, but only to grab a towel from the coffee table, cleaning her hands with deliberate slowness. “You good?”

Dave looked at her—really *looked* at her—her hair tousled, her lips swollen, the flush high on her cheeks. He reached out, his fingers brushing her jaw. “Yeah. I’m *really* good.”

Ana caught his wrist, turning her face to press a kiss to his palm. “Good. Because next time?” She smirked. “I’m using my mouth.”

Dave groaned, his cock twitching traitorously at the thought. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Ana stood, offering him a hand. “Nah. Just gonna make you *beg*.”