“With that mindset, I think you’ll do just fine.” She lifted herself up on her elbows. “A few tips. One. Start by teasing the lips. Two. A little thigh play is always in order. Light touch, but not too ticklish. Then clit to tongue and—”
“I might not have done this, but I have an idea how it works.”
She looked amused. “Oh really?”
He didn’t back down from a challenge. “Hey, I might be a virgin, but I’m sure as shit not a monk.”
“So you’ve been with women, just not all the way.”
“Nope.” He crawled onto the bed. The mattress creaked under his weight. “I have one hell of an imagination.”
The air in here smelled warm and sweet, like brown sugar and vanilla, and the fragrance only intensified the closer he got to her.
She still wore her black leotard and the leggings with the cats.
“I didn’t dress for the occasion this morning,” she whispered, glancing down. “No easy access.”
“Take everything off,” he ordered, a slow, insidious heat making its way over his sac. His cock felt warm and heavy.
She pushed down the right shoulder of her leotard and bared one creamy shoulder and the strap of a dusky pink bra.
Then the left side.
Then the whole damn thing came off, cat leggings too.
She was a vision in her satin bra and matching thong. Her thighs were slightly parted and the dark wet spot in the center of her whisper-thin pink panties hinted she wasn’t unaffected by this encounter either.
His throat constricted as he slid his big hands up her thighs, the calluses on his palms rough against her soft skin.
She was like an exotic flower petal, all satin and silk. He couldn’t stop rubbing, testing, and everywhere he explored she was the same. Smooth. Perfect.
His heart did its best jackhammer impression.
“Kiss me.” She laced her hands with his, giving her bottom lip a little lick. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you how.”
“I want to,” he said. “I want to kiss you everywhere. Map your skin with my mouth. Memorize every last part.”
“That’s the spirit.” She grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged him close. It hurt but in a good way. The best kind of way.
And there they were again. Her lips. But this time they weren’t mashed against his mouth in stunned surprise. They were opening, sweet and hot and there was the slick slide of her tongue, pressing against his, the rhythm slow and lazy, a pace he could follow. She trembled, her hands dipping down to clutch at his shoulders, urging him closer.
He was making her feel good, and the knowledge made him greedy. He wanted to make her feel better.
Whatever he did must have been right because the sound of her moan radiated to the root of his cock.
He closed his eyes. During the best times in his life, it was as if he’d watched a movie of himself. When he’d gotten a full scholarship to Boston College. When the Hellions had won the championship once and then again.
Now this.
It was like the part of his brain that should be able to comprehend happiness, or feel a moment deeply, was defective. Or worse, broken.
He’d mentioned this fact to Sully before, and his friend said it was a defense mechanism, that on some level he felt that if he dropped his guard to feel the good in life, he’d also more acutely feel the bad.
But maybe it was a good thing, keeping mental distance. Because this right here, was him at his most self-destructive. He wasn’t throwing his fist into some mouthy asshole’s face. No. Worse. He’d gone and admitted his Achilles’ heel to an absolute stranger and put himself at her mercy.
She broke off the kiss and lifted her hips, not much—a few inches. But it was a quiet demand to get on with it.
In for apenny...
