His hand moved down, two fingers tracing up the top of my thigh, fingers moving in a bit at the top, tracing the line where my panties skirted my thigh. It was barely a touch at all, but goosebumps prickled up over my body, sending a shiver through me, something that made his eyes burn even brighter.
Taking a deep breath that shook my chest, I folded slowly upward, raising my hands over my head, being a bit bolder than I had ever been in intimate situations in the past, but there was just something about Cam, something that made me feel safer, a fact that gave me the confidence to make moves, demands.
To my utter delight, Cam's chest shook when he drew in his next breath as well before he reached downward, snagging the tee at the hem at both sides of my hip, dragging it upward with absolutely no rush at all, seeming to want to savor the moment, a fact that filled me with warmth.
I had nothing against rough sex, about grabbing hands and hungry bodies, but I had always preferred the first time with someone to be slow, explorative, maybe even sweet. You never got a second first time and, in my experience, it was the one you always remembered best.
So realizing that Cam felt the same way, yeah, it was altogether too good, too perfect.
The tee dropped down beside the bed, leaving me sitting there in nothing but a pair of panties, looking up at his fully-clothed body, greedy to see more of it.
But when my hands rose to start to remove his clothing, his hands grabbed them, gave them a squeeze, settled them back against the mattress at my sides, his hands settling on my shoulders, gently pushing me back until I was flat.
His body folded slightly forward, one palm pressing into the mattress at my side, the other brushing my shoulder then blazing a path downward. Over my clavicle, between my breasts, down the center of my belly, tracing the waistband of my panties, curving over to slide up my hip, waist, ribs. Then finally, finally teasing under the swell of my breast, making my nipples twist tightly, my back arching up, begging for more.
Cam's air rushed out of him, seeming to take with it his tight grip on his control.
His hand moved, closing over my breast, squeezing, then stroking his thumb over the peak slowly, gently, relentlessly, until my thighs were pressing tightly together, trying to calm the chaos between, the greedy need for more.
Only then did he move across my chest, torturing my other nipple as he leaned further down, sealing his lips over one, sucking. The searing surge of pleasure was nearly enough to undo me right there, dragging a ragged moan out of me that had Cam's eyes closing, seeking control, before his mouth moved across my chest for another agonizingly long moment.
Then and only then, when my body was writhing, my hands digging into his flesh, did he slip his tongue out, gliding down the center of my belly, across the waistband of my panties, down the front of my thigh, then back up to trace the line where my panties met my thigh.
So, so close.
Yet not nearly close enough.
I was debating reaching down to pull my panties away myself, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him where I needed him most.
I was so distracted by that thought that I didn't notice him moving. Not until I felt his lips seal around my clit through my panties.
I swear my vision went white for a short minute as his tongue started tracing in lazy circles, the friction of my panties creating an entirely new sensation.
My muscles tightened, my breathing went shallow, my fingernails damn near broke skin.
And just when I thought the torture was about to end, Cam pulled away, blowing air onto my panties, something that made my sex clench hard.
But I couldn't even bask in that for any length of time because Cam's fingers snagged my panties, yanking hard. The ripping sound was one of the sexiest things I had ever heard.
Emboldened, impatient with the need to feel him inside me, I folded up again, this time getting to my feet, hands sliding under his cut, pushing it off his shoulders, then pulling off his tee.
This time, he let me, standing there watching me, waiting for my reaction. I wasn't sure why until the tee hit the floor and my gaze moved over his bare skin.
There was what I expected, of course, the deep indents of his abdominal muscles, the breadth of his chest, the corded curves of his shoulders, the little trail that disappeared into his jeans.
But there was something else I hadn't anticipated, though.
That was the fact that his entire body was a map of scars. Some were small and old - nearly skin-colored, maybe the width of a wire. Others, though, were newer, whiteish, deeper, longer, wider. And there were the worst of them all. Big, puckered, circular, raised ones. I had seen enough movies to place a gunshot wound scar when I saw one.