I wrap my arms around his neck and rise on tiptoe.
Clint slides his hands down until they reach my ribs, then lower, where he grasps my waist, tugging me closer, some instinctive knowledge guiding him.
His bulge throbs against my stomach, and a low grunt comes out of him, sending a bolt of pleasure between my legs.
After a moment I break the kiss, needing to breathe. Needing to see him.
His expression is one of pure, molten desire.
“Oh God, Clint,” I say. There’s no stopping this now. My body won’t let me.
I pull his coveralls off his shoulders, revealing a form-fitting white undershirt. It leaves none of his thickly muscled torso to the imagination. His body is toned from hard work, not fromendless repetitions at a gym. Not that there’s anything wrong with the gym, it’s just that there’s not an ounce of vanity with this man. Not even any self-awareness.
He has no idea how intoxicatingly attractive he is. The rough edges; the intense eyes; the hugeness of his form.
“Take it off,” I whisper.
He peels his T-shirt off without a second thought.
In the flesh, he’s even more beautiful. I draw my fingers down his body, from collarbone to sternum, ribs to belly. His skin is smooth and scorching under my touch, the light hair running down his stomach soft.
Clint trembles as I touch him. I wonder if he dreamed about doing this—how the real thing compares. But all questions leave my mind when he tightens his grip on my ribs to gently push me away.
He looks down at my lingerie, then back up to my face.
“You want me to take this off?” I ask innocently, looking down at my bra.
He looks embarrassed.
I grin. “It’s okay.”
There’s a certain thrill in knowing I’m his first. He’s never seen any of this in the flesh.
When I unhook my bra, letting myself spill out for him, he doesn’t breathe.
He just stares, mesmerized. Lust widens his eyes, making his breathing shallow.
“You want to touch me?” I ask.
He doesn’t hear me, of course. So I reach for his hands and bring them to my breasts.
His touch is tentative at first, a soft cupping of flesh. But he moves naturally, his thumbs coming up and brushing against the hard peaks of my nipples.
This is the modern age; he’s obviously seen this in pictures or videos. He’s right—he knows what to do, even if he’s never done it himself.
Clint drops to his knees, and with a brief glance up at me, he kisses my collarbone. He’s tall enough to reach without straining. He works his way lower, to the tops of my breasts. Then, with surprisingly little hesitation, he takes one into his mouth.
He’s hot and wet, and the curl of his tongue over my sensitive skin sends shockwaves through me. I moan, threading my hands through his hair. I tug at him, bringing him closer and pulling him away, guiding him where I want.
He’s a quick learner.
But a few seconds later, he backs up, breathing hard. There’s panic in his expression. He looks down. His jumpsuit’s fallen, and his shorts are fully tented, a small damp circle where the tip of his cock presses hard against the fabric.
He’s worried he’s going to come.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Come on.”
I lead Clint to the bed, sitting him down. Then I reach down and pop off my garters, sliding out of my stockings. When I’m standing only in my underwear, Clint reaches for me, pulling me close to him. He presses his face into my stomach, kissing me there. His lips are so sweet, but also so close to where I’m already throbbing.
