“Gah!” Fuck. Totally a bad time to make fish faces and noises.
“Fake beards probably take quite a while to put back in place, not to mention the wig and the glasses and—”
I step forward and cup her face.
She immediately falls into stunned silence.
Shit, it’s already happening. My brain is going straight to dick-induced mush. It’s that if I don’t kiss her, I’m going to regret it forever. I’m already regretting that I didn’t properly see her. That even when I thought I wasn’t, I was up in my head. And even when I’m being the most open, I still close a part of myself off and hide it away. I half feel that if I don’t kiss her, I won’t be able to stand it. And it’s not just my pants giving the orders because they’re sodonewith trying to contain my package in an already too-tight area to begin with, all while blood circulation is getting low.
My pants are all:The math ain’t mathing.
God, I hate that saying.
I leave it with just me touching her face. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to wreck her. I don’t want to hurt and wreck the small parts ofmethat aren’t hurt and wrecked either.
She falls into me, her hands on my shoulders. Then she tilts her face up in my hand, slips her fingers up the column of my neck, and guides my face down to hers.
She shudders against me, whimper-gasps, and touches her lips to mine. It’s so sweet the way she searches, asking permission, giving, and not taking. Her breath skims over my lips, and the tip of her nose touches mine. This still isn’t a proper kiss. I could still turn back.
But no, there’s no turning back.
The only turning back I want to do is realizing just how much I wanted this far sooner than I did.
I tilt my face and claim her mouth. Her lips part beneath mine immediately, her body going lax as my hand slides down to her shoulders and then splays out against her back while the other brackets her waist.
Without warning, she slips her tongue into my mouth. It’s so hot that she’s taking the lead. She strokes mine, kissing me so furiously that our teeth almost knock together.
“God,” she whispers against my lips before she nips the bottom one, tugging it between her teeth until pain blossoms from the bite.
I thought I was hard before.
Now, there’s a destructo-dick in my pants, capable of being used to dismantle… or, I suppose, mantle anything.
“I’ve… this is… wow. The real thing is better than anything I could dream up.”
I want to ask her what she has dreamed about. If she has fantasized about me as she touched herself. If she has orgasmed on her fingers, wishing it were my cock. If she has thought about taking me into her mouth and licking me, sucking me. If she has had dirty thoughts, andhowdirtythey are.
I want to know, but I’m a gentleman, so I’m not going to ask even though I kind of want to ask. Well, maybe I might ask.
But I don’t get the chance. Because my head reels, and she sends me spiraling out as she drags her teeth along my lip again and then kisses my chin and suckles my throat before she drops to her knees.
She nuzzles her face against my groin, inhaling the scent of leather and me, and all I can think of is thank fucking god these pants are fresh from getting cleaned. Leather is a bitch, but there’s a great place here that works wonders.
She runs her nose over the hard bulge in my pants, and then she parts her lips and mouths me over the leather.
My hand snaps out and grabs the counter before I fall over.
She’s right. A kiss isn’t just a kiss. She wants me. I want her. Though we shouldn’t. I tangle my hand in her hair and tug, not hard, but enough to tilt her face back up so I can see her eyes. I need to know she wants this.
Zero doubts.
Zero regrets.
“Can I?” she breathes, all the green banished from her eyes, the brown now so dark with her pupils that they’re like twin pits sucking me down into their depths. “Can I touch you like this? Can I make you feel good?”
“I thought you had to knead buns,” I joke, just to lower the intensity and save my cock from exploding in my pants like I’m a freaking teenager.
She grins up at me, her whole face suffused with emotion, but there’s a devious tilt to her lips. “I’d rather knead yours.”
