Brooklyn stepped over the threshold into Jonathan's studio apartment. Oh, man, what am I doing here, Brooklyn thought. She had known this man for all of twenty minutes—met him in a coffee shop down the street—and here she was, standing in the doorway of his shabby apartment as he tried to push piles of dirty laundry under the bed and behind furniture.
"Sorry it's so messy," Jonathan smiled embarrassedly, "Usually, I'm the only one here."
The shyness in Jonathan's voice softened Brooklyn and she took a few more steps into the room. "It's ok, man, I'm messy too."
"Oh, ok," a childish smile spread across his face. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around sheepishly. "Well, this is it," he shrugged.
Brooklyn softened even more. He didn't look like a psycho murderer, just like an embarrassed little boy who had problems talking to girls. And Brooklyn understood that. She had always fit in with the guys, but talking to women confused and mystified her as much as any man. Too bad she loved fucking them as much as any man did.
But Brooklyn wasn't here to fuck any woman. She was here for Jonathan, whose tall, square frame attracted her with a new intensity. She'd never been with a man like this, but after her break with Anna, she'd decided that it was about time for some new experiences. She walked over to Jonathan, who was standing by his unmade, pullout bed, and planted a kiss on his soft, warm lips. She rested her hands on his chest, feeling the way his thin knit sweater fell over his hard body. Her hands wandered, exploring his chest, neck, the small of his back as she kissed him. In an instant, Jonathan forgot his embarrassed self and lost himself in Brooklyn. He kissed her back, wrapped his arms around her tiny frame, and took in her body, her confidence, and her charismatic, laid-back attitude. Brooklyn pulled back and laughed, "Let's start this, ok?"
Jonathan smiled, that evasive grin washing over his face. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. Brooklyn's outright confidence turned him on and seemed to extenuate her fine, athletic build. Jonathan knew that he was much stronger than Brooklyn, that he could take total control of her body if he wanted, but her self-assurance more than made up for the slightness of her physique, and this intimidated him. He didn't know exactly what she would let him do with her, but he knew that he wanted her, wanted to come inside her and break her laid-back façade with screams of pleasure.
He pulled off his sweater and drew Brooklyn to him again, running his fingers through her cropped black hair, smoothing his hands firmly down her back, around to her flat, hard stomach, over her small, soft breasts. He held her narrow hips and slid his hands up her torso, taking her shirt with them. He pulled the garment over her head and let it drop to the ground as he took her in his arms again, his strong hands huge on her fine back, guiding her body into him.
Brooklyn could feel Jon's desire for her; a musky, rough, masculine craving that she hadn't felt in the long months with Anna. His insistent physicality sent waves of yearning through her and she knew that she wanted him, and she wanted him now. Forcefully, she pulled him to her by his belt, then roughly unbuckled it and pulled open his button fly. Jonathan returned her passionate savagery, tearing at the clasps on her taupe French bra until they pulled free and it fell away from her body. He took her firmly, pinning her fine body between his hard chest and his commanding hands as he explored her breasts. He pulled back from Brooklyn's mouth to watch his own fingers as they ran over the teardrop mounds, her tight nipples like drops of espresso in cream. He enjoyed watching the effect that he had on her body, and as she began to squirm from the sensations he was sending through her sensitive skin, he held her tighter, checking her movement, forcing her to endure him.
Brooklyn was exhilarated and enraged. She had never been controlled like this, never had anyone explore her body so confidently, never had someone return her roughness with such ease. Brooklyn grabbed Jon's wrists, pulling his searching fingers away from her body. She pushed him backward, five steps until he was against the wall. She held Jon's arms against the wall, pressing her body against his and kissing him hard. When Jon pressed his tongue deep into her mouth, she pressed back with equal force. He half-heartedly tried to move his hands, but she dug her blunt fingernails into his wrists and forced his arms back, slamming his fists into the cold plaster.
