nbsp; I tilt my chin higher, trying to reach his mouth. He doesn’t move, and I feel like I’ve failed some test. I try to move my body closer, a stronger hint, but he grabs both my wrists and pins them above me to the wall. His breaths are hard, mine are shallow. We’re in some kind of heady limbo charged with passion.
A thrill shoots through me as I realize he just might want this as much as I do.
And then he kisses me. It’s not the brutal kiss from seconds ago, but it’s not entirely gentle either. It doesn’t matter. The pressure of his mouth on mine is all that I want. His lips roam over mine, claiming, releasing, tasting, lingering. I can’t keep up, but I exalt every nuance. I can’t remember ever being kissed like this before. Part of me feels like I can do this forever, the other part isn’t content with just kissing. My body wants to drink in his in every way possible.
Unconsciously, my body strains toward him. He responds by pressing me into the wall with his body. I welcome the discomfort from being sandwiched between two forms of hardness because it distracts me from the fire raging within me, that threatens to burn any last bit of prudence urging me to heed his earlier warning.
As if he’s worried that he’s been too rough, he lightens the kissing, taking soft mouthfuls of my lips. He’s gentle, almost reverential. But I’m beyond that. My desire doesn’t have the patience. I don’t have any room to maneuver, but I try to grind my hips against him. He senses this and deepens the kiss. His tongue seeks mine. I try to be an equal partner in this dance but probably come across a little awkward.
He drops one of my wrists to cup my jaw, holding me in place as he takes over the dance with sheer force. I let him do what he wants, though it’s not like I really have a choice. Beneath my waist, I’m a molten mess.
Releasing my jaw, he drifts his hand down my collar and pushes my sweater off one shoulder. He grasps my bare shoulder, making every nerve come to life with his touch. His hand slides down my back and comes to rest on the small of my back, where he presses me into the hardness at his crotch.
I guess I’m out of practice because my mouth is a little tired from being worked over by him, but there’s no way I want him to stop.
His hand moves to my butt. Cupping a buttock, he crushes me to his groin. I lose my breath.
My back arches because even as our hips are joined, he still has my other wrist pinned to the wall. He lets me catch my breath, moving off my lips, kissing and sucking his way down the side of my neck to the shoulder he bared. He finally releases my other wrist and picks me up by the back of my legs. I’m shoved against the wall again with my legs wrapped around his hips. I circle my arms around him and nibble on his earlobe. He thrusts at me, making me wetter and wetter.
I hold him tightly as he carries me to the bed and sits down with me on his lap. Wanting the taste and feel of his mouth again, I brush my lips against his. His hand shoots to the back of my head, holding me in place as he maneuvers me into the angles he wants, pressing his desire into my mouth.
By now my body is going crazy, craving a deeper connection, ardor to ardor. Unlocking his lips from mine, he peels off my sweater and studies the rise and fall of my chest. He brushes the knuckles of one hand below my collarbone before caressing my neck and massaging my nape.
I revel in his every touch, eager to know how he will touch me next. Will it be soft and tender or hard and demanding?
He slides his fingers underneath the spaghetti straps of my camisole and pulls them down my arms till the top bunches beneath my bra, which he unhooks before I’m able to stop him. The bra springs off, revealing my perky but small breasts. I hope he’s not super disappointed.
He doesn’t seem to be, and cups a breast. He fondles the flesh, rolling and kneading the orb. My nipple hardens beneath his palm. He grabs me by the waist, lifting me, as he trails his mouth from my collarbone, between my breasts, and down toward my navel as he leans me back into the bed. Next come my jeans, which he slowly unbuttons and unzips, pulls down past my hips and legs, and drops on the floor. He does the same to the camisole, leaving me naked but for my panties.
He kisses his way up my inner thigh, making me gasp when he nears my crotch. His fingers brush against my underwear as he lays beside me. I am tense with need, with desire throbbing between my legs.
His hand grazes my abdomen, then slips into my panties.
My breath catches as his fingers nestle between my folds. Slowly, gently, he rubs me. I am so wet down there, I don’t know what to do with myself. So I lie still and quiet as he strokes my flesh. His forefinger and middle finger slide down either side of my clit. I shiver.
God Almighty.
He starts to ply my clit, creating satisfaction and longing at the same time, masturbating me better than I can myself. I glance briefly at him. He stares at me, taking in every flutter of my lashes, every shaky exhale. The intensity is too much. I close my eyes and immerse myself in the scintillation of his fondling.
He slides his fingers over my clit, and I gasp aloud. After exploring a bit, he finds a spot that has me groaning. His fingers dig in, petting, rubbing, teasing. Tension, hot and heavy, starts collapsing into that spot. Sensing the implosion imminent, I grasp the bed linen. My brow furrows, and my body hangs upon a precipice.
And with a cry, I burst into convulsions, my mound bumping into his hand, legs trembling, back arching.
My clit is super sensitive now, but there’s a last bit of hunger that he attends before the fondling finally fades. I lay flooded in bliss, which bursts like little bubbles in my veins. I release a shaky breath and open my eyes to find Tony gazing down at me.
Now comes the hard part.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’m excited but nervous when he pulls my panties down. I’m completely naked while he still has all his clothes on. Should I be trying to undress him? I don’t remember being this indecisive the few times I messed around as a teenager. Is it because I’m about to lose my virginity? Or is it because of him? He’s in charge, and I don’t want to risk screwing it up.
Pushing apart my legs, he settles between them. His hands glide softly over my thighs. This is it. It’s going to happen. Should I remind him that the condoms are in the other room?
But he doesn’t undo his pants. Instead, he’s still leaning on the bed, his head inches from my mound. He circles my clit with his thumb. My body responds with renewed warmth. And then his head lowers farther.
Oh. He’s going to do that.
I’m uneasy. The one boyfriend I had who gave it a try lasted two or three minutes down there. He had suggested I give myself a trim. I only take care of that during the swim season, so I haven’t groomed that area in some months now.