Oh, fuck me, I like the sound of that. “Open the top right drawer there,” I instruct.
Panting and a bit disoriented by the change in pace, it takes her a second to realize what I asked. Then, she reaches for the pull and leans forward to peer inside. Her delighted laugh fills the room when she finds and retrieves the sex toy I made for her.
“I had a feeling we’d need it in here,” I explain.
“And you were right.”
“I usually am.”
She laughs again. “Can you really call it getting lucky if I’m so down bad for you that I’m a sure thing?”
“Yes,” I reply instantly, quite serious. “Because I feel lucky every time I’m with you.”
Her hips slow to a stop, and she tosses her hair out of the way to look over her shoulder at me. “Wesley,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “That was really sweet!”
The urgency of the moment changes—the thrumming, mounting desire plateaus—and I reach up to take her face in my hand. I pull her head up and back, slanting my mouth over hers. Our kiss is gentle and tender, and I sweep my thumb back and forth across her cheek. She places her hand over mine, holding it tightly.
But it doesn’t take long for the press of our lips to turn into something hungry and desperate. Every sound she makes against my mouth vibrates through my chest. Every small motion of her on my lap presses on an already-pulsing dick. Every whiff of her delicious warm scent reminds me how long it’s been since my head was between her thighs (this morning).
I release her jaw and trail my hand down the front of her, grabbing the zipper on her pullover and dragging it with me. Not breaking the kiss, I palm her breast and give it a good squeeze. The whimper she makes into my mouth sets my blood on fire, so I move to her nipple and pinch.
Her back bows, causing her breast to jut forward into my hand, following the prick of pain. She’s trembling already, legs shaking.
“Me encanta tus pechos,”I tell her, pulling away. I have the pleasure of watching her eyes pop open, then glaze over with lust at the Spanish praise. I do love her breasts. I love how they spill out over my hands and how responsive her nipples are, beading and hard for my touch.
I let my fingers trail down her stomach. “Me encanta tu… erm… tummy?”
She lets out a little giggle. “Barriga.”
“Barriga,” I repeat, failing miserably to roll my r’s like she did. “Todo en tu cuerpo es redondo, suave, y perfecto.”Everything about your body is round, soft and perfect.
I give the flesh right over her belly button a knead, making her gasp. I know it puts pressure on the bladder and can heighten the feeling of arousal. Seems to have worked, because she starts grinding on me again. “Please, Wesley.”
“And I love this very much,” I breathe into her ear, strumming against her clit with two fingers.
She chuckles. “We stole that one.Clítoris.”
“I think I can remember that.”
I rub a small circle around her sensitive center. She’s not very wet, but I’ve come to expect this, and I don’t care a whit. My girl isn’t self-conscious about much, but clearly in her past someone made her equate moisture to desire.
I know she wants me. She knows I want her. It’s not about that, and the solution is too simple to spend any energy letting it bother my ego—especially when it’s a conflation. The more reading I do on the matter, the more I understand that sexual desire and female moisture are only loosely related.
“There’s lube in the drawer as well,” I say, relishing in her little shakes of excitement. “Let’s put in your special toy, shall we?”
“You mean theDream Cream?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Wesgasm 5000?”
“Worst one yet.”
“Spyder Vibe?”
I pause. “Actually… that one isn’t so bad.”
With a triumphant laugh, she leans forward and reaches into the same drawer for the bottle I left next to the device. I realize almost too slowly that she intends to do it herself. That won’t do.
