“You’ve got the most beautiful breasts,” he growled as if he wanted to eat them, nuzzling his way between them.
His hand skimmed her navel as the other continued to squeeze her breast into a point he suckled upon, pouring gasoline on the fire he seemed intent on fueling, over her scar again as if he not only wasn’t afraid to touch it, but was reminding her that he wanted to know. His thumb and forefinger flicked the button loose at the top of her jeans slipping beneath, between her thighs, skimming over her panties to her damp center.
“Ready for me,” he murmured confidently, slipping his finger back and forth over the moisture soaking through as if strumming those guitar strings.
His other palm slid up her chest, abandoning her breast so that the warm wind breezed upon the damp lace and puckered it further, cupping around her nape, his lips against hers, that signature bite, the soothing suckle, and she was pressure under a fire. So much pressure mounting as he toyed with her sensitive lips, slipped his finger beneath her panties and hooked the lace, playing upon her bundle of nerves with gentle tugs between her legs.
Her body trembled. Quaked. He was pulling her so close to the precipice yet wouldn’t push her over yet. Her hand cupped the front of his jeans. So hard, so thick and heavy and proudly at attention. He bucked into her unexpected touch but he released her nape and dragged up her hand, depositing it on his shoulder.
“Don’t steal my thunder, baby,” he teased. “I got no trigger control when you’re touchin’ me.”
She laughed—
His finger pushed within, dragging her ruminations to a halt while his others continued to use her panties against her, toying with deft, dexterous fingers, a parachute catching the free fall of her mind and suspending all rational thought.
“I wanna see you come apart,” he breathed against her neck, his lips resuming a lazy kiss, as lazy as his finger gently massaging in and out of her. “I wanna watch my girlfriend’s pretty face while she chases that high.”