I hitch one leg around his hips, and he lifts me onto the edge of the counter so I can wrap both legs around him.
Clearly, this kiss is going well.
I might have to pretend to be his girlfriend for the summer.
Or just his lover.
The way his erection is nestled between my thighs while I pulse my pelvis against it, the talent he has with his tongue, the steel wall of his chest—this man looks like a happy-go-lucky goofball, butoh my god.
When was the last time my lady bits were panting this hard, coiling tight so fast? He hasn’t even touched my ass or mybreasts or my neck or anywhere else that it usually takes to get me turned on.
He’s just dry-humping me on a countertop while his tongue and his lips treat me to the best kiss of my life.
If he tried to touch my ass or my breasts or so much as breathed on my neck, on that magic spot behind my ear, I’d come on the spot.
I wrap my arms around his neck and weave my fingers through his hair, gripping the short strands and holding him in place.
He makes a low growl in his throat, and then he’s deepening the kiss.
Yes.
Yes,more.
He slides one hand under my blouse, his fingers dancing up my spine and playing my body like he’s been practicing for this moment his entire life.
Bedroom.
No, fuck the bedroom.
I mean, we’ll fuck in the bedroom.
Later.
Right now, I need to get these buttons on his shirt undone and then tackle his pants, and then?—
“Well, hello. Not what I was expecting, but I can go with this,” Daphne says.
I shriek.
Simon yanks out of the kiss and loses his grip on me, which would be fine if I were on the counter-counter.
But I’m not on the counter-counter.
I’m on the edge of the counter in front of the sink, andno onehas a small enough ass to be balanced there and then suddenly freed to go anywhere except back.
And that’s exactly what I do.
I fall back.
Into the sink.
Dishes crunch and clank beneath my ass.
Water soaks into my linen shorts.
Cold, nasty, dirty dishwater.
“He needed to role-play a scene so he can write it right,” I blurt.
