Grumpy Boyfriend Claims His Virgin Sunshine

Sullivan heard her before he saw her, the same way he had every morning for eight months: bare feet, a hum that had no business being cheerful before caffeine, the soft slap of a cabinet. Teresa was twenty-two. The sunshine was not a mood. It was how she filled their apartment, ginger hair twisted up, bright blue eyes finding him even when he was trying to be a wall. Freckles crossed her nose and scattered down her throat. Under the thin tank she slept in, her medium breasts shifted when she reached, and the tiny shorts she favored did nothing to hide the small, tight curve of her ass or the toned line of her stomach and thighs. Sexy without trying. Worse because she tried anyway.

He was twenty-eight. Black hair still messy from the pillow. Grumpy by reputation and by choice. He had fucked enough women to know the difference between hunger and haste, and with Teresa he had chosen the long ache on purpose. She was a virgin. She had told him that early, sunny and plain, and he had said he would wait until she asked. He had kept the promise. It had not made the nights easier. She cuddled into his chest after the lights went out, warm and wriggling, and his cock stayed hard against her hip while he stared at the ceiling. In the daytime she bounced through the living room in those shorts, laughing at his silence, and the tension sat in the rooms like humidity. He wanted to bend her over the counter. He wanted to lick every freckle. He did not touch her past kissing, past a careful hand on her waist, because she had not said the word yet.

Eight months of that. A shared lease. Two toothbrushes. Her bright voice in spaces he used to keep empty. His experience locked behind his teeth. Her virginity intact, wanted, waiting.

Saturday had been lazy on purpose. Rain on the windows. Sullivan on the couch in a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants, brooding at nothing, jaw tight. Teresa had showered and come out in nothing but an oversized shirt of his, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs. He looked once and looked away. Looking was how he lost.

She did not let him look away. She crossed the rug and climbed into his lap, knees spread over his hips, shy and blazing at once. The shirt rode up. Bare underneath. He felt the heat of her against the cotton and his hands locked on the cushion so he would not grab.

"Sullivan." The brightness had gone breathy. "I've been fantasizing about you. About you taking it. My first time. I keep thinking about your hands and your mouth and how you'd feel inside me, and I can't stand another night of just cuddling while I drip on your thigh. I want you to fuck me. I want you to be the one."

His grumpiness cracked. Heat flooded his chest and his cock, which thickened so fast it hurt. He caught her hips, thumbs digging into soft skin.

"You sure?" Rough. He needed the yes while he could still hear it.

"Yes. I'm sure. I've been sure. I was scared, and now I'm not. Or I am, a little, but I want it more." She kissed him, soft at first, then open, tongue shy against his. He groaned into her mouth and the patience he had worn like armor burned off in one hard breath.

"Eight months," he growled, kissing her harder, teeth grazing her lower lip. "Eight months I've waited to claim you. To stretch this pretty cunt on my cock and make you mine for real. You have any idea what you've been doing to me, bouncing around in those shorts, rubbing that little ass on me in the dark?"

His hands roamed. Under the shirt, up her toned sides, over the medium swell of her breasts, thumbs dragging across nipples that peaked at once. Down again, squeezing her small ass, spreading her so she rocked on the hard line of him through his sweatpants. She trembled. A helpless sound broke out of her when his fingers slipped between her thighs and found her soaked, slick coating his knuckles on the first stroke.

"Sullivan—"

"Beg me." He kissed freckles along her throat and circled her clit with one rough, careful fingertip. "Say you want me to be your first. Say it like you mean it."

"Please." She was shaking, clutching his black hair, blue eyes wet and bright. "Please be my first. Take my virginity. I want your cock. I want you to claim me. I'm begging you. Fuck me, Sullivan. Teach me how. Don't make me wait anymore. I need you inside me tonight."

He stood with her locked around his waist, the oversized shirt bunched at her ribs, and carried her down the hall like a man finished being patient. Her mouth stayed on his neck. Her cunt left a wet print on his stomach where the shirt had ridden all the way up. He kicked the bedroom door shut and laid her on their bed, the one they had shared for eight months without ever using it for this.

"Stay," he said.

He stripped the shirt off her slowly, dragging cotton up over her stomach, her breasts, her arms, until she was naked in the low lamp light. Ginger hair fanned the pillow. Freckles dusted her collarbones, the upper curves of her medium breasts, the pale skin of her ribs. Her nipples were tight and pink. Her thighs had fallen open without her seeming to notice, and her pussy glistened, untouched, swollen from nothing but his fingers and eight months of wanting. Small ass tucked against the sheet. Toned, sexy, trembling. His.

Sullivan took his time. He kissed the freckles on her shoulder, then the ones between her breasts, then each nipple until she arched and whimpered. He mapped her stomach with his mouth, the dip of her navel, the sharp little bones of her hips. She kept trying to pull him up and he pinned her wrists once, gentle and absolute, and went back to work.

"Let me," he muttered against her skin. "I've been staring at these freckles for eight months. I'm going to taste every one before I fuck you."

She laughed, breathless, then moaned when his tongue traced a path down her inner thigh. Her hands found his black hair and held on. He stripped his own shirt off between kisses, then shoved his sweatpants down and kicked them away. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed, already wet at the tip. Teresa's blue eyes went wide.

"Can I—" She reached before she finished the question.

"Yeah." His voice had gone gravel. "Touch it. Learn it. It's yours now."

Her fingers wrapped around him, curious and eager, stroking from base to head with a clumsy reverence that made his thighs flex. She smeared the precum with her thumb and watched his face like she was studying weather. He let her pump him, slow, while he knelt between her legs and talked her through the grip, tighter at the base, twist at the head, thumb under the ridge. She obeyed, fascinated, licking her lip when a fresh bead welled up.

"Enough," he said, before he lost the plan. He caught her wrist, kissed her palm, and lowered himself between her thighs. "First you come on my mouth. Then you take my cock. That's the order."

He spread her with his thumbs and licked a long, flat stripe up her cunt. She jolted, a bright cry cracking out of her. He did it again, slower, learning the taste of her, sweet and sharp, then sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked. Two fingers pressed at her entrance, not pushing in yet, just circling, coating themselves, letting her feel the promise. When she pushed down toward them he slid one in, careful, and the tight heat of her made him groan against her clit.

"Oh—Sullivan—that's—"

"I know." He worked the finger in shallow thrusts, tongue flicking, then added a second when she started rocking. Virgin-tight, clutching, soaking his hand. He curled them, found the spot that made her thighs shake, and stayed there while he licked her like he had all night and intended to use it. She babbled. Please and his name and oh god and more. He gave her more. He sucked her clit in steady pulses and fucked her with his fingers until her stomach went tight and her small ass lifted off the bed.

"Come," he ordered, mouth never leaving her. "Give it to me. Soak my face. That's it, sunshine. Come."

She broke. A high, startled wail, cunt pulsing around his fingers, slick flooding his tongue. He licked her through it, gentling only when she shoved weakly at his hair, oversensitive and gasping, blue eyes unfocused on the ceiling. He kissed the inside of her thigh, then her mouth, letting her taste herself.

"Good girl," he said. "On your knees. Face the mirror if you want, but I want that ass in my hands. You're going to ride me."

He stretched out on his back, cock standing thick and flushed against his stomach, and guided her until she straddled him reverse, her back to his chest's line of sight, small sexy ass presented, ginger hair spilling down her spine. She looked over her shoulder, nervous and shining.

"Slow," he said, gripping her hips. "You lower yourself. I don't shove. You take what you can. Stop if it hurts past a stretch. Nod if you understand."

She nodded. He held his cock upright and watched her reach back, line the head up with her soaked entrance, and sink. The first inch made her gasp and freeze. He stroked her ass, thumbs spreading her cheeks so he could see her cunt stretching around him, pink and glistening, struggling to take the head.

"Breathe. You're doing it. Push down when you're ready. I want to watch this little ass swallow me."

She did. Inch by inch, whimpering, pausing, then taking more, until the head popped past the tightest ring and she sank halfway with a broken moan. Sullivan's jaw locked. Heat. Grip. Virgin cunt fluttering around him like it didn't know whether to push him out or drag him deeper. He did not thrust. He let her work, hands firm on her hips, guiding the rock.

"That's it. Ride. Bounce that ass for me."

She found a rhythm, shallow at first, then deeper, her small cheeks flexing and jiggling each time she dropped. He watched his cock disappear into her, watched her ass bounce, watched freckles shift across her back when she arched. One hand slid around to her clit and rubbed in time. She got louder. Wetter. The slap of her ass against his hips turned messy. When she finally sat all the way down, stuffed full, she sobbed his name and ground in a circle that made his vision blur.

"Fuck, Teresa. Look at you. Taking every inch. My little virgin, riding my cock like you were built for it. Bounce. Harder. Let me see that ass work."

She bounced. He met her with small upward thrusts, still controlled, still teaching, until she was shaking again and coming a second time, cunt milking him so hard he had to grip her hips and hold her still or he would finish inside her before he was ready. She collapsed forward onto her hands, ass up, still speared, panting.

"Not done," he growled. He pulled out slow, the drag obscene, and flipped her onto her back before she could miss him. Missionary. Her blue eyes found his, wide and wrecked and wanting. He hooked her knees up, lined himself up, and pushed back in while he watched her face.

"Eyes on me." He thrust deep, a long stroke that seated him to the hilt. "This is me claiming you. Every inch. You feel that?"

"Yes—god—yes—"

He fucked her slow and possessive, hips rolling, cock dragging over the spot his fingers had found, one hand braced beside her ginger hair, the other pinning her thigh open so he could watch himself sink into her. Freckles. Blue eyes glassy. Medium breasts bouncing with each thrust. He kissed her and talked her through it, filthy and attentive, telling her how tight she was, how good she took him, how he had wanted this cunt since the first night she curled against him and pretended she wasn't soaking her panties. She wrapped her legs around him and begged for deeper. He gave it to her, still measured, still in control, grinding at the bottom of every stroke until she came a third time with her nails in his shoulders and his name torn out of her throat.

The clench nearly ruined him. He pulled out with a snarled curse, cock slick and angry, and straddled her ribs.

"Stroke it," he ordered, catching her hand and wrapping it around his shaft. "On your tits. I want to paint every freckle."

She pumped him, eager, messy, looking up with those bright blue eyes while he fucked her fist. Two strokes. Three. He came with a rough groan, thick ropes striping her medium breasts, her freckled chest, her throat, her fingers. She kept stroking him through it, milking every pulse, smearing it over her nipples like she wanted the proof. He watched it shine on her skin and felt something mean and satisfied lock into place behind his ribs.

Sullivan dropped beside her and hauled her against his chest, cum-smeared and panting, his arm a bar across her waist. He reached for the warm cloth he had set on the nightstand earlier, because he had known, and wiped her tits in slow possessive passes, cleaning his spend off her freckles only to lean down and mouth the clean skin like he might mark it again.

"You're completely mine now," he said, low and grumpy, thumb dragging through a last streak he had missed and pushing it between her lips. "No one else gets this cunt. No one else gets this ass. You come on my cock or you don't come."

She sucked his thumb clean, blue eyes blazing, and smiled like the sun had moved into the bed on purpose.

"Good," he muttered against her ear, already hard again against her small ass, "because I'm not done wrecking my little virgin. Open your legs and take another load."