“Klein,” she says, but there’s nothing else after it. Not a request. Nor a question. Only my name, because she can. Because she wants to.
I suck at her thigh, at the tattoo, drawing the skin into my mouth and biting down. She gasps, and her hand finds my hair again. My mouth drops from her thigh, sliding down a hill, to that place where my fingers explored earlier. Her thighs, still locked together, form a ‘v.’
Sitting up, I look down at her closed eyes. “Paisley, if you want me in here, you’re going to have to open up for me.”
Her eyes open. Gaze on mine, she parts.
Settling between her knees, I run my hands up her thighs, watching them disappear under the hem of her dress. Higher I push, until the fabric settles at her hip bones.
I stare down at her, exposed for me. “Now that,” I say, appreciating the light pink lace.
Paisley smiles. “That is underwear worthy of removing.”
Hooking my fingers into the waistband, I tug them down her body. They were pretty while they lasted.
And there, right fucking there, is my paradise.
“So pretty,” I admire, a blush of crimson stealing over Paisley’s cheeks.
Settling in, I press my mouth where I want it. Where Paisley wants it. Hidden in the pantry earlier, we were short on time. Now I have her on her back in a big, softbed, and I take my time. Her fingernails scrape my scalp until it’s too much and she cups a hand over her mouth to muffle her mewling. Her hips buck, and I press a forearm low over her stomach to keep her in place.
One pass over her. Then another. A lazy drag, a roll. A slow circle that has her thigh muscles tensing, and then I suction my mouth to her until her body bows off the bed. Thigh muscles quaking, she remains silent while her bucking body screams for her.
“I wish you could see how beautiful you look,” I say when I sit up. Her hair swirls around her head, her cheeks are the loveliest dark pink.
“If it’s anything like the way you looked when I took your mind off the pain, then I already know.”
“And you call me the wordsmith.”
She smirks. “That mouth of yours has many talents.”
“For my next act...” Sliding my hands in the waistband of my shorts, I push them down swiftly.
Paisley’s eyes are glued to the part of me that springs forth. “I don’t have condoms. I wasn’t expecting anything like this to occur.”
“I brought some.”
Paisley feigns surprise. “Klein Madigan. How dare you make such assumptions about a lady.”
“Precautions,” I clarify, grabbing my shorts. I stowed one foil packet away in my wallet before the party. “No expectations.”
Sitting back on my knees, I guide the condom onto my length. Paisley, propped on her elbows, watches me. The low light from the bedside lamp spills a deep yellow over the bed, and over Paisley.
She reaches for me, and I settle myself into the cradle of her hips. Lowering my mouth, I take one pert, pink nipple between my lips. Continuing on with the theme of taking my time, I sink into the task, cupping one breast while I work on the other. Paisley grows impatient beneath me, and I smile.
She releases a feminine growl of frustration, and I smile wider. It’s adorable.
Paisley reaches between us. Her grip locks onto me, positioning me right where I need to go, and she says, “Please.”
Is there anything I like better than hearing that word on Paisley’s lips? Right now, nothing comes to mind.
She gasps when I press inside, her chest rising with her inhale. Trailing kisses over her collarbone, up her neck, and finally, to her mouth. I set a tempo that is not fast nor slow, but something in between. Paisley likes it. She folds her legs so they parallel our bodies, her fingers running up my back and into my hair.
“Look at me,” I ground out.
Ocean blue gazes into forest green.
It is only me, and her.
