She silently reaches between us and tugs at my shirt. I remember what she said about not making a sound, so I get the message. In response, I rear up and strip it off. Her eyes widen, and a little gasp does escape her as her eyes roam over my chest. The idiotic teenager still lurking in the depths of me somewhere wants to inhale a deep breath or maybe even make my pec flex.
Jesus. Yeah, because stuff like that would impress anyone.
Because there’s space for her to sit up, Feeney yanks her shirt off too. She has a white sports bra on underneath, which is not as sexy since it’s built for utility and comfort, but good lord, it might as well be silk and lace. My mouth goes dry, and my hands sweep up her narrow waist, over her flat, muscled stomach, up to her bra. They splay over her shoulders and back, searching for a clasp, but nothing. Not in the front or back.
Feeney makes a sound near my ear—a tiny exhale that makes my dick feel like it’s going to explode. I keep going, trying to get my fingers under the bottom of the bra, but it’s tight as fuck. It feels like it’s glued to her. Can that honestly be comfortable? I keep working at it, trying to push it up. It rolls, the tight material wrapping over and under and in on itself. I think I’m making things worse.
This time, the noise in my ear isn’t as sexy.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Am I hurting you?”
“No. Here. Let me.”
I lean back and watch as she tucks her hands beneath the bra, tugging it violently until it pops up. She raises her hands over her head, still tugging and jerking, contorting herself into strange positions. I think I even heard her shoulder pop and crack. Her hand grazes my face as she tugs, nearly connecting with my jaw as I jerk back just in time. Finally, the thing comes free. Feeney’s cheeks are red, and she throws the bra across the room. I would, too, if something held me captive like that.
“Hmph,” she sighs. “There.”
There. Yes. There.
Right. There.
I can’t stop looking away from her chest. I know I should look into her face, but I don’t think anyone could look into her face when they’re faced with such beautiful perfection—two twin globes, more than a handful, both perfect and pale with dark nipples that are also pure perfection. They’re wonderfully hard and taut like it’s freezing cold in the room.
Those breasts beg for my hands and mouth, but I can’t seem to move. I’m so focused that I’m frozen, but then Feeney’s fingers curl into my hair as she drags my face to hers. I kiss her furiously, then finally rip away and do what I was too frozen to do before. I lay her back and suckle her throat, memorizing the delicious taste of her skin with my tongue and lips as I cup her breast and roll my thumb over the pert bud. She whimpers, just a hiss of air escaping, and I kiss my way there, down to my hand. I think my brain checks out, and something else takes over. It might have been a long time, and I might have a tendency to overthink things, but my body remembers what it’s supposed to. I roll my tongue around a rosy bud, tasting the sweetness and suckling her gently. Her chest arches up, thrusting her breast into my tongue, and my dick just about explodes.
Feeney isn’t just content to let me have all the fun. Her hands trace over my arms while I worship her, her soft fingertips burning a path as she explores. Just that innocent touch up my arms and over my shoulders makes me see all sorts of bright lights that aren’t coming from the phone on the nightstand.
She trails her fingertips over muscle and veins, then over my shoulders and down. When her index finger brushes over my nipple, I freeze. My dick feels like we’re already nearing the end zone, and I can’t let this be game over before I even get out of my jeans. I know it’s been a long time since my dick saw any action other than my palm, but…but…chicken nuggets.
I force myself away from Feeney’s breast, noticing, of course, how her nipple hardens in the cooler temperature of the room after my mouth leaves it. The hard bud is wet and glistening with my saliva. At that sight, my balls contract and expand. Yes, they really do, and not in a good way. Rather, it’s in the I’m giving you two seconds warning before I blow, and there’s nothing you can do about it kind of way.
“Can I take your pants off?” I whisper-gasp.