She closed her eyes in resignation and released me. I got her top button undone with a flick of my fingers and then started to slide her zipper down, curiosity making strange bedfellows with the lust still coursing through me. More of her skin was exposed, and while I could have spent hours staring at it, or dropping kisses on it to find out just how ticklish she was, I was too distracted by the frayed elastic band of her underwear.
I kept unzipping. They were cotton, the fabric a mottled taupe that leaned more toward brown in the darker areas. What the hell?
I moved the zipper lower, and a splotch of orange was revealed. Lower still. A dab of blue-green-gray that reminded me of drowned things. I reached the end of the line and spread the sides of her pants open. A Rorschach-style kaleidoscope of colors stared back at me.
“How the fuck did you even do this?” I asked.
She groaned and covered her eyes. “I used a folded-up rag to wipe up paint one day, and the underwear was stuck inside it from static. I tossed them in the wash with the rest of my paint rags and they came out looking like this. I was going to throw them away, but then I had a vague idea of doing something with them, making some sort of artistic statement full of ennui and existential angst.” She pulled her hands away and looked up at me. “You know, because I’m so dark and moody.”
“Oh yes. I know,” I said, fighting back a smile.
“I threw them into my underwear drawer afterward so I wouldn’t forget about them, and then promptly forgot about them. Until today.”
I stared at her. “You’re going to need more than an ugly pair of panties to make me not want to sleep with you.”
Her mouth popped open in response. Then her eyes darkened and her lips lifted in a downright indecent grin before she straight up launched herself at me. I caught her out of the air and spun us, one arm around her back, the other braced on the bed so I could lay her down on the comforter. Our mouths crashed together, almost violently.
I dragged myself away from her and gripped the band of her underwear and pants. I paused, looking up at her.
“Take them off,” she said.
Yes, ma’am.
I dragged them down her legs. She squirmed out of them, arching her back at the same time so she could reach behind herself and unhook her bra. It came off a second later, leaving her gloriously naked before me.
“I want to trace your tattoo with my tongue,” she said, her gaze running up my left arm.
I looked down at her. “Funny. I was just thinking about doing the same to your vagina.”
She barked a laugh, and then spread her legs, exposing herself to me, just as unselfconscious as I hoped she would be.
I dropped to my knees, hooked my elbows beneath her legs, and tugged her to the edge of the bed. Her pubic hair was a few shades darker than the hair on her head, trimmed so that I had an unobstructed view of the delicate folds of her sex, of the moisture that already glistened there.
She slid her legs up and rested her calves on my shoulders, then chuckled darkly.
I paused to meet her eyes.
“My legs fit into the divots in your shoulder muscles exactly like I imagined they would.”
I turned my head and kissed the inside of her knee. “You imagined this?”
She let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”
I should have taken my time, traced my way up her leg, licked and kissed and bit the inside of her thighs until she begged me for it. But I did none of those things. Instead, I spread her wider and leaned forward to suck her clit into my mouth.
Chapter 17: Ella
“Ben,” I moaned, arching up off of the bed, my amusement forgotten.
I wanted to look down at him, watch him, thread my fingers through his hair. But I couldn’t, because –holy fuck– he was good at giving head. He knew exactly where a clit was, just how to tease and taunt, lavishing it until I neared the point of overstimulation before dragging his mouth lower so he could slide his tongue into me.
I dug my hands into the covers and spread my knees further, giving him even greater access to me. His mouth returned to my clit, and a finger slicked into my wetness, replacing his tongue.
“You’re tight,” he said, voice so low I could feel it vibrating into me. “And so wet.”
“You’re going to talk me to climax,” I warned him.
His finger dove deeper, mouth returning to my aching flesh. “You taste so good.”
