As he made a sound in the back of his throat, I yanked his shirt out of the front of his pants. I needed to touch all that hardness. He seemed to feel the same way. As we kissed, he eased my sweater up and caressed across my stomach and waist, exploring. I was trying to undo a button on his shirt with zero luck.
Grant broke off our kiss and eased back slightly, releasing my hand finally. Propped on his side, he said, “Here,” and just yanked his shirt off over his head without unbuttoning it. The top button gave way and went pinging into the wall. It dropped between my mattress and the wall.
“Oh, shit, your button,” I said, even as I was greedily running my hand under his T-shirt to feel what his suit had hinted at. Hard abs? Check.
“I have other shirts.” He reached over his head and gave the same treatment to his T-shirt. He just hauled it by the neckline up and over. He tossed it in the general direction of the floor. “Your turn.” He took the bottom of my sweater and yanked it up. I lifted my head and shoulders up so he could fully remove it.
I was wearing a very practical bra because it was comfortable, gave full coverage, and was mostly seamless under my tight uniform sweater. It wasn’t unattractive, just not exactly enticing. I had very average-size breasts, which I appreciated. Not too big, not too small. Grant cupped one, his large hand covering the entire thing. Either they were smaller than I had realized or he had some big-ass hands.
Then again, I tended to date artists, musicians, and baristas, and they were predominantly thin, with long fingers, but no strength. Grant was by far the most filled-out guy I’d ever seen naked. In person, anyway.
He teased at my nipple with this thumb through the fabric of my bra before lowering his head and skimming his lips over me. I felt a deep tug between my thighs. He was barely touching me and I was so completely turned on I was contemplating begging him to get this train rolling a little faster.
Grant bit my nipple.
I gave a startled cry. Not because it felt bad but because it felt good. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
He glanced up at me over my breasts. “Too much?” Even as he spoke, his reach was behind my back undoing the bra and removing it.
I shook my head as he took down the straps and sent my bra sailing into the air. “No. Not at all.”
“Are your roommates home?” he asked, his mouth hovering my nipple.
I could feel his breath teasing over my flesh as he spoke. I shook my head a second time. “No. They’re at work.” Thank God. I didn’t need questions about who Grant was and where this was going.
It was going nowhere but one and done. One opportunity to experience what it was like to be with Grant and then we could go back to waitress and customer.
Or maybe not even that, given he didn’t actually like breakfast food.
“I’m glad we’re alone, because you’re going to be screaming,” Grant said.
That was more than a little arrogant. I gave a little scoff. Just because I’d been hot for him for months didn’t mean I would spontaneously orgasm. He needed to put some work in. “Prove it.”
The smile he gave me made me instantly shiver. Whoa, boy. That was some wicked, smoldering arrogance right there. That was a man who liked to win.
Yay.
“I’m not a man who walks away from a challenge.” Grant reached behind me and grabbed another of my pillows, this one fortunately a solid gray. He lifted my leg and rested my swollen ankle on it. “Lie back and relax.”
My flirty retort died on my lips when he took my nipple into his mouth and teased over it with his tongue. Good start. Not worthy of screaming, but a solid beginning. He rolled the other nipple between his fingers.
“I’ve pictured licking maple syrup off your nipples more times than I can count,” he murmured.
Oh, my. I thought about him eating, staring at his plate, no phone out, no book. Now I knew why. It was incredibly sexy to think I had inspired contemplations. As he flicked his tongue over my nipple I actually pondered if I had any syrup in the apartment. No, none. That would be a mess anyway. “I always thought you were meditating.”
“In a manner of speaking.” Then he stopped using his mouth for speaking.
He licked, he sucked, he consumed my nipples, my tits. He spent just enough time on one area that I would start to moan and arch into his touch, then he would shift to a different part of my body. It was driving me crazy, though I refused to admit it. The scratch of his beard only increased my arousal and the sensitivity of my skin.
When he shifted, and kissed me again, it wasn’t urgent. It was languid, exploratory, suggestive of further things to come. As he took my mouth, he ran his palm over my nipples, increasing the ache that I had for him. For more.
He was in no hurry. Nor did he seem to need me to touch him, though I had at one point started gripping his biceps so I didn’t float off the bed to the ceiling. It wasn’t long before I was digging my nails into his warm skin.
Grant’s attention to my tits, to my neck, to my mouth just went on and on until I started to shift restlessly. I hadn’t made out this long since high school and my lower half wanted in on the party.
Just when I thought I might actually orgasm just from his kisses alone, he pulled back.
Staring down at me, his expression intense, he gripped the fabric of my skirt and hauled it up past my thighs, never breaking eye contact. His thumb ran over the front of my panties, very lightly, very briefly. He slid them off.