She’s being hilarious and sexy and fun and inspiring and everything that I’ve been starved for my entire life.
I straighten on the bed, grab her shirt by the hem, and tug it over her head, getting it stuck when she doesn’t move her arm right.
So I leave it like that.
With it shoved over her head, one arm stuck with her elbow bent, and I roll her onto her side so that I can see what I’m doing.
Her belly shakes with laughter. “Oh my god, Oliver, I’mstuck.”
“I prefer you this way.”
She laughs harder.
Until I touch the fairy dust sprinkles tattooed across her belly, tracing the little dots up over her chest, to her shoulder, where the first tattooed fairy is touching her wand to Daphne’s collarbone, making all of the sprinkles fall down.
Now she’s sucking in a breath, goosebumps rising across her chest and abdomen.
I bend and lick a path of them between her breasts.
“Oh my gaaa,” she whimpers.
“Is that a goodoh my gaaa, or a badoh my gaaa?” I rub my stubbled chin between her breasts. “I need context to properly learn anything.”
I’d like to say I’m better than adequate in the bedroom, but I’ve had maybe a half-dozen one-night stands in the past fewyears, generally at someone else’s urging and insistence that it would relieve some of my stress. It never did.
My life and I didn’t get along.
Probably still don’t, but this—this is fun.
It is.
It’sfun.
She fights with her shirt and finally gets it over her head, then slides her bra all the way off too, lying there with nothing on top but a smile and two pillowy mounds that I want to squeeze while she runs her fingers through my hair again and I nibble at the side of her breast.
“You’re terrible at undressing a woman,” she tells me, but her words don’t match the irregular hitches in her breathy voice.
I slide a hand up her ribs and indulge in flicking a thumb over the tight pink nub at the tip of her breast.
“Clearly awful,” I agree while her eyes cross and then her lashes flicker shut.
“The worst.” She finishes the word with a gasp when I scrape my teeth over her nipple, and when I glance up at her, she’s smiling.
Belly quivering.
Breath coming quickly.
Nipples pebbled.
And still smiling while I tease her breasts with my mouth and my hand.
Fun.
Easy.
No pressure.
I trace the line of fairy dust on her tattoo again. “Am I doing this right, or am I supposed to be playing with your elbows or your belly button too?”
