"Nile is used to sometimes faking her orgasm because some of her exes would get impatient when it took her too long to get off. Booker, however, is a connoisseur and can tell the difference immediately from when she’s actually coming, and makes it extremely clear to her (with visual demonstrations) that he’s happy to take care of her for hours, whatever she needs."
Nile really thought an orgasm was supposed to look and feel a certain way. She expected that when it came down to it, she’d experience a shuddering, overwhelming feeling at the hands of an attentive partner. And yet that sort of release had always remained frustratingly beyond her reach. Her previous partners had tried everything in their power to drive her over the edge, flipping her and turning her, thrusting harder and softer all in an effort to get her off—until finally she’d learned to fake it to head off inevitable feelings of disappointment.
“Oh! Here I come!” Nile screamed, shuddering and shaking her hips like a washing machine.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian cried out, appalled, when she jerked around his cock as he thrust against her.
“I’m coming!”
But she wasn’t. She was trying to spare his feelings. She wanted to make him believe what they were doing was good for her. She wanted to match him, blow for blow.
Sebastian treated her well enough, like an equal, without constantly reminding her of their age gap as the others tended to do. She didn’t want him to think of her as inexperienced or innocent, compared to his decades of experience making love to women.
“Wait.” Sebastian pulled out, his hands on her hips in an effort to put some space between them. He was breathing hard and shaking his head. “No. This isn’t right.”
“What?”
“Was I hurting you?”
“No! Of course you weren’t.” Nile felt heat rise to her cheeks as she rushed to reassure him with a fib. “It was good for me, what we were doing. The way you—” she made a thrusting motion, to illustrate her point without saying too much.
“I could have sworn I was hurting you,” he frowned, pulling back further. “You were making a face like. . . Wait. Were you faking just now?”
“What? No!”
“Bon sang! Nile, I’ve been with enough women to tell the difference!”
He’d hit the nail on the head. No doubt he’d had decades of experience with hundreds of women, while all she’d had were a few years of fumbling around and a number of exes she could count on one hand.
“Don’t I know it!” she shouted back.
“What?”
“You always treat me like a child—like I’ll never be experienced enough to be an equal partner to you.”
He gave her a look that was difficult for her to read and shook his head. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel less than you are,” he told her, with a frankness she appreciated. “I don’t mean to come off as condescending to you.”
“It’s not just you. The others can be so—” She clenched her hands into fists to channel her anger without blowing up at him.
“Set in their ways?”
She snorted. So maybe he understood something of what it was like to live with a group of people who were hundreds of years older than you were.
“Tell me about your experience, then,” he prompted her.
“My exes? What about them?”
“Did you feel you had to pretend with them? To orgasm?”
“Sometimes.” She shrugged. “They were attentive and all, but sometimes I felt like I was testing their patience. They were putting all this work in and it just wasn’t doing it for me and it wasn’t leading to anything.”
“Hm.”
Sebastian turned Nile’s hand over in his own, rubbing his calloused thumb over the back of her hand.
“You know,” he said, “we have all the time in the world. We can take all the time we need, if that’s what you need.”
He moved closer, then. “Whatever you need,” he said, trailing his hands suggestively over her chest and her breasts and her navel. “Faire l’amour,” he whispered into her ear, making her breath hitch, “isn’t just about fucking.”
She moaned when he moved away again to crouch between her bent knees.
“When you touch yourself, what do you like?” he asked, patiently, keeping his hands to either side of her hips on the mattress.
Nile looked down at her navel, searching for the right words. “I press hard on my clit, rubbing downward, almost like I’m trying to push it back into my body,” she explained, hoping it made sense to him. “And it always feels more intense when I press my face against a pillow, like I’m smothering myself.” She shrugged, a little embarrassed when she thought of how often she’d tried to get herself off that way for years. It hardly felt like the sort of experience one could share with a partner. “When I do it like that, it makes me shudder and sometimes I get all wet down there, too.”
“It sounds to me like you might enjoy breathplay. Have you ever tried it?”
“No,” she admitted. She’d never had enough trust in a bed partner enough to ask. “I’ve always been too risk-averse to bring it up.”
“Would you like to try it, now?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She shared something with this man—a curse, a condition, a bond—that she’d never shared with any of her exes. She could hardly explain why but she felt she could trust that with him she wouldn’t come to any harm. He’d never intend to hurt her and what he didn’t intend, she’d heal.
“We’ll start slow,” he told her. “We’ll take all the time you need and when you think you’re close, I’ll put some pressure on your airway.”
“Okay.”
“If you need me to stop, I’ll stop. If you can’t speak, you can tap my shoulder and I’ll stop.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t forget,” he said, shifting closer to her without breaking their eye contact. “This is about your experience, not mine. I want nothing more than to make you reach your climax—however long it takes.”
She nodded, parting her legs for him when he placed his hands on her knees. She fisted her hands in the bed sheets and gasped when he pressed his thumb to her clit.
“Like this?”
She gasped and moaned at the force with which he stimulated her sex—as though he really did intend to push the organ back inside her body. She cried out and he relented and she begged for more of his touch.
He obliged her.
She clutched at his naked shoulders as he thumbed her clit with one hand, clutching at her pelvis for more leverage, and stimulated her vagina with the fingers of his other hand. She shivered and shook as he massaged her clitoris forcefully. He wasn’t being gentle and she could really feel it.
“Oh!”
She felt him press his forehead against her shoulder, grunting and sweating, as he focused on pleasing her. She leaned her head against his, responding to his touch but too overwhelmed to do much else.
She wasn’t faking anything when she started shuddering and shaking beneath him.
“Oh!" she gasped. "I think I’m coming!”
“Déjà?” he growled, though he sounded pleased with his efforts. He let up some of the pressure on her clit as he moved to press the crook of his hand, slick with sweat, against the base of her throat.
“Prête?”
She nodded to whatever he’d said. Or groaned. Or pleaded with him. She hardly cared how she’d answered or what she’d said, so long as he followed through on his promises. He’d promised her an orgasm and she’d never wanted one so much.
She’d hardly taken a breath when he started to put pressure on her throat—constricting her airway while he continued to manipulate and stimulate her sex with firm strokes. Her chest heaved beneath his weight while hardly drawing in any air and she shuddered from the lack of it. She revelled in a feeling she’d fruitlessly sought each time she’d pressed her face to her pillow, only now she couldn’t escape from it. She felt powerless beneath his hands as he pleasured and pressured her without providing any respite that might allow for this feeling to recede like a wave. She felt her whole body shake as an overwhelming feeling welled up inside her and tore through her in its attempt to escape her small frame. She was lying at the epicentre of a cataclysm that was entirely beyond her control.
Nile gave a breathless scream that felt more like it had been punched out of her chest than expressed from her throat.
When she climaxed, she came so hard she lost all control. She could hardly move or breathe for a few beats afterward. She could just about feel how drenched she was between her legs. She was a mess.
For once, though, she didn't feel a lingering sense of disappointment; she nearly felt overwhelmed with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was the feeling she'd been chasing for years.
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, without speaking or making a sound, after he'd released his grip on her throat.
“What was that?” she gasped, when she’d taken a few breaths and felt her heartbeat steady enough that she wasn’t worried she’d pass out.
“La petite mort,” Sebastian answered, smiling at her knowingly. “When you experience so much pleasure that you feel like you’re dying, but then you come back to life.”
“Oh.”
Sebastian kissed the look of shock and awe from Nile’s face.
“A real orgasm, ma chérie, is very hard to fake convincingly.”
“I get it now.”
Perhaps, Nile thought, Sebastian had a few things he could teach her.
Fill: Book of Nile, Faking It
"Nile is used to sometimes faking her orgasm because some of her exes would get impatient when it took her too long to get off. Booker, however, is a connoisseur and can tell the difference immediately from when she’s actually coming, and makes it extremely clear to her (with visual demonstrations) that he’s happy to take care of her for hours, whatever she needs."
Nile really thought an orgasm was supposed to look and feel a certain way. She expected that when it came down to it, she’d experience a shuddering, overwhelming feeling at the hands of an attentive partner. And yet that sort of release had always remained frustratingly beyond her reach. Her previous partners had tried everything in their power to drive her over the edge, flipping her and turning her, thrusting harder and softer all in an effort to get her off—until finally she’d learned to fake it to head off inevitable feelings of disappointment.
“Oh! Here I come!” Nile screamed, shuddering and shaking her hips like a washing machine.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian cried out, appalled, when she jerked around his cock as he thrust against her.
“I’m coming!”
But she wasn’t. She was trying to spare his feelings. She wanted to make him believe what they were doing was good for her. She wanted to match him, blow for blow.
Sebastian treated her well enough, like an equal, without constantly reminding her of their age gap as the others tended to do. She didn’t want him to think of her as inexperienced or innocent, compared to his decades of experience making love to women.
“Wait.” Sebastian pulled out, his hands on her hips in an effort to put some space between them. He was breathing hard and shaking his head. “No. This isn’t right.”
“What?”
“Was I hurting you?”
“No! Of course you weren’t.” Nile felt heat rise to her cheeks as she rushed to reassure him with a fib. “It was good for me, what we were doing. The way you—” she made a thrusting motion, to illustrate her point without saying too much.
“I could have sworn I was hurting you,” he frowned, pulling back further. “You were making a face like. . . Wait. Were you faking just now?”
“What? No!”
“Bon sang! Nile, I’ve been with enough women to tell the difference!”
He’d hit the nail on the head. No doubt he’d had decades of experience with hundreds of women, while all she’d had were a few years of fumbling around and a number of exes she could count on one hand.
“Don’t I know it!” she shouted back.
“What?”
“You always treat me like a child—like I’ll never be experienced enough to be an equal partner to you.”
He gave her a look that was difficult for her to read and shook his head. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel less than you are,” he told her, with a frankness she appreciated. “I don’t mean to come off as condescending to you.”
“It’s not just you. The others can be so—” She clenched her hands into fists to channel her anger without blowing up at him.
“Set in their ways?”
She snorted. So maybe he understood something of what it was like to live with a group of people who were hundreds of years older than you were.
“Tell me about your experience, then,” he prompted her.
“My exes? What about them?”
“Did you feel you had to pretend with them? To orgasm?”
“Sometimes.” She shrugged. “They were attentive and all, but sometimes I felt like I was testing their patience. They were putting all this work in and it just wasn’t doing it for me and it wasn’t leading to anything.”
“Hm.”
Sebastian turned Nile’s hand over in his own, rubbing his calloused thumb over the back of her hand.
“You know,” he said, “we have all the time in the world. We can take all the time we need, if that’s what you need.”
He moved closer, then. “Whatever you need,” he said, trailing his hands suggestively over her chest and her breasts and her navel. “Faire l’amour,” he whispered into her ear, making her breath hitch, “isn’t just about fucking.”
She moaned when he moved away again to crouch between her bent knees.
“When you touch yourself, what do you like?” he asked, patiently, keeping his hands to either side of her hips on the mattress.
Nile looked down at her navel, searching for the right words. “I press hard on my clit, rubbing downward, almost like I’m trying to push it back into my body,” she explained, hoping it made sense to him. “And it always feels more intense when I press my face against a pillow, like I’m smothering myself.” She shrugged, a little embarrassed when she thought of how often she’d tried to get herself off that way for years. It hardly felt like the sort of experience one could share with a partner. “When I do it like that, it makes me shudder and sometimes I get all wet down there, too.”
“It sounds to me like you might enjoy breathplay. Have you ever tried it?”
“No,” she admitted. She’d never had enough trust in a bed partner enough to ask. “I’ve always been too risk-averse to bring it up.”
“Would you like to try it, now?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She shared something with this man—a curse, a condition, a bond—that she’d never shared with any of her exes. She could hardly explain why but she felt she could trust that with him she wouldn’t come to any harm. He’d never intend to hurt her and what he didn’t intend, she’d heal.
“We’ll start slow,” he told her. “We’ll take all the time you need and when you think you’re close, I’ll put some pressure on your airway.”
“Okay.”
“If you need me to stop, I’ll stop. If you can’t speak, you can tap my shoulder and I’ll stop.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t forget,” he said, shifting closer to her without breaking their eye contact. “This is about your experience, not mine. I want nothing more than to make you reach your climax—however long it takes.”
She nodded, parting her legs for him when he placed his hands on her knees. She fisted her hands in the bed sheets and gasped when he pressed his thumb to her clit.
“Like this?”
She gasped and moaned at the force with which he stimulated her sex—as though he really did intend to push the organ back inside her body. She cried out and he relented and she begged for more of his touch.
He obliged her.
She clutched at his naked shoulders as he thumbed her clit with one hand, clutching at her pelvis for more leverage, and stimulated her vagina with the fingers of his other hand. She shivered and shook as he massaged her clitoris forcefully. He wasn’t being gentle and she could really feel it.
“Oh!”
She felt him press his forehead against her shoulder, grunting and sweating, as he focused on pleasing her. She leaned her head against his, responding to his touch but too overwhelmed to do much else.
She wasn’t faking anything when she started shuddering and shaking beneath him.
“Oh!" she gasped. "I think I’m coming!”
“Déjà?” he growled, though he sounded pleased with his efforts. He let up some of the pressure on her clit as he moved to press the crook of his hand, slick with sweat, against the base of her throat.
“Prête?”
She nodded to whatever he’d said. Or groaned. Or pleaded with him. She hardly cared how she’d answered or what she’d said, so long as he followed through on his promises. He’d promised her an orgasm and she’d never wanted one so much.
She’d hardly taken a breath when he started to put pressure on her throat—constricting her airway while he continued to manipulate and stimulate her sex with firm strokes. Her chest heaved beneath his weight while hardly drawing in any air and she shuddered from the lack of it. She revelled in a feeling she’d fruitlessly sought each time she’d pressed her face to her pillow, only now she couldn’t escape from it. She felt powerless beneath his hands as he pleasured and pressured her without providing any respite that might allow for this feeling to recede like a wave. She felt her whole body shake as an overwhelming feeling welled up inside her and tore through her in its attempt to escape her small frame. She was lying at the epicentre of a cataclysm that was entirely beyond her control.
Nile gave a breathless scream that felt more like it had been punched out of her chest than expressed from her throat.
When she climaxed, she came so hard she lost all control. She could hardly move or breathe for a few beats afterward. She could just about feel how drenched she was between her legs. She was a mess.
For once, though, she didn't feel a lingering sense of disappointment; she nearly felt overwhelmed with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was the feeling she'd been chasing for years.
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, without speaking or making a sound, after he'd released his grip on her throat.
“What was that?” she gasped, when she’d taken a few breaths and felt her heartbeat steady enough that she wasn’t worried she’d pass out.
“La petite mort,” Sebastian answered, smiling at her knowingly. “When you experience so much pleasure that you feel like you’re dying, but then you come back to life.”
“Oh.”
Sebastian kissed the look of shock and awe from Nile’s face.
“A real orgasm, ma chérie, is very hard to fake convincingly.”
“I get it now.”
Perhaps, Nile thought, Sebastian had a few things he could teach her.