She looks at me like she thinks I might be upset by her news.
Instead, I pull her lips to mine and taste her deeply. She moans at the abrupt motion but then grabs my shirt and holds on while I steer us to the sofa, kissing her frantically the whole way.
I drag her onto my lap, facing me, her knees on either side of my hips. Call me psycho, but I want to pick up where we left off more than a year ago—because I’ve been dreaming of that ever since.
This time, though, I can feel her so much better through her thin leggings and my loose joggers.
In between cupping her round ass and kissing her neck, I say, “All my ‘Hate to Love’ lyrics … were about you too, by the way. In case … there was any … doubt about that.”
She sighs and grinds against me—so much like before—making me even harder than I already was.
Then she undoes the top two buttons on her blouse. I gaze at the swells of her breasts, propped up by a Barbie-pink bra.
Is that what she’d called “magenta”?
Whatever it is, it works for me.
I finish undoing the rest of the buttons like I’ve never seen a button in my life, all thumbs because I can’t slip them out of their holes fast enough.
Harmony’s bare skin makes my cock twitch in anticipation. She discreetly tries to cover her midsection—probably because that’s all anyone can talk about whenever she’s shown it—but I nudge her arms away and caress every inch of her. She’s soft in multiple ways and she feels good in my hands, especially after I adjust her blouse so that it falls off her shoulders and down her arms and onto the floor where it belongs.
Blushing, she lets her bra straps fall too, and now my heart is pounding like a kick drum, directing all my blood downward.
I might be worse with the bra hook than I was with Harmony’s buttons, but I don’t quit until she’s completely topless. Then I’m clutching her bare breasts and she’s grinding on me again and I think I might lose my mind.
To make matters worse, she says in the sultriest voice, “This time, I want you inside me.”
Something animal in me takes over and, while she’s still straddling me, I maneuver her onto her back along the length of the couch. I yank off my own shirt and lie on top of her, skin to skin.
At this point, I have to slow down because if I don’t I’m going to come right now, so I take a breath and just try to savor the feel of her.
“Are you okay?” she asks, brushing a tuft of hair off my forehead.
“I … don’t think … I’ve ever been more okay … in my life.”
Harmony laughs softly. Her eyes are glassy, but in a good way. Has she seriously been holding onto these feelings as long as I have?
When I catch my breath—kind of—I trail my fingers down to her waistband. I’m dying to know how wet she is, dying even more to feel her wetnessonme.
I do have the briefest flicker of a coherent thought and remember that I need to consider safety.
Moving to get up, I ask, “Should I grab a—”
“No,” she breathes. “I’m covered.”
Awesome.
With her help, I halfway remove the leggings and her scant underwear (scant, I’m assuming, because women don’t like the lines to show or whatever, which of course is fine by me) but I can’t resist stroking her sweet spot right this minute.
Her body tenses beneath me.
“Is that alright?” I ask.
She nods. “It’s … it’s good. I promise.”
So I keep going, gently pushing through her folds until I find her entrance, which is …
Fuck.
