Then I kiss them.
“That’s two,” I say because she can’t talk.
She gasps at my touch, looking at the lights on the elevator wall showing what floor we are on.
And I swear it’s like she is praying it will go slower.
I know I am.
Still feeling like we have plenty of time, I drop to my knees and kiss her stomach.
“Three,” I kiss her hip, “Four…”
Then I lift her dress up.
I can already smell her.
Sweet, tangy, wet…
But I don’t get right to it.
I kiss her knee and thigh before lifting her leg up and setting it on my shoulder.
Slowly my mouth makes its way up her thigh, hovering right over the swell of her lace panties.
That’s got to count as five.
Maybe six.
Then, I hook my finger inside the lace and pull it aside.
And as I look up at her, her eyes meeting mine, I press the pad of my thumb to her clit and rub slowly, intentionally.
“Oh, fuck,” Amanda moans, clasping my hair in her hands.
The elevator slows and I come to my feet.
I pull her dress back up over her breasts just in time for the door to open, though she covers her chest with her hands as though she is still exposed.
Seven.
I pull Amanda down the hall to my room.
With one hand on the handle, shoving the door open, and the other hand pulling her against me to kiss her again, we stumble inside.
The door slams and she throws both arms around my neck, standing on her tip toes. Even in her heels, I’ve still got a good six inches on her.
I love it.
I bend, grab her by the thighs and lift her into my arms.
“Am I heavy?” she asks the words, if I had to guess by default.
I wonder who made her feel that way.
Who had the fucking audacity to make her doubt herself.
“Are you kidding?” I grit into her mouth, devouring her lips and tongue as I speak. “You’re fucking perfect, baby girl. My God…”
