His cock pulses in my hand, and I smile.
So does he.
He also leans forward, pushing me back again, and kisses me.
Those lips.
His hand sliding into my pants to cup my ass.
His pelvis flexing against mine, teasing me with the feel of his erection against my clit.
I miss this.
I miss physical connection. Kissing. Touching. Intimacy.
And when Fletcher moves his mouth, taking his kisses to my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, to my breasts—oh my god, I miss sex.
I misswantingsex.
He sucks one nipple into his mouth, and my hips leave the bed.
“Good?” he murmurs.
I grip his soft hair and push his face back to my breast. “More.”
“I only worship breasts if the lady they’re attached to is completely naked.”
“Oh my god, you truly are an asshole.”
He laughs against my chest, and honestly?
So do I.
I also wiggle my hips while I tug off my leggings.
He helps me, and then I’m naked except for my socks.
I haven’t been naked with a man in two years.
And I need tonotfocus on that.
Not when Fletcher’s sliding a condom into my hand as he licks the underside of my breast, all the way to the tip of my nipple. I’m panting as I watch him, his tongue swirling around my areola before he sucks my whole nipple into his mouth.
My hips buck again. I tighten my grip in his hair while my legs wrap around his hips.
The condom.
I need to get the condom on him.
Now.
Before—justbefore.
One little flex, and I could take him all the way inside of me.
And I want to.
Oh my god, I want him inside of me.
