The kissing deepens to a level that turns my insides to molten lava. Foster’s tongue owns my mouth. His hands grip my ass so tight that I can’t help but think about that rigid pipe pushing into my core.
I need him to touch my skin. I need him to touch me everywhere, but I don’t want to stop kissing him to tell him what to do to me.
I wriggle against him and tug at the material of his shirt.
The skin over his ribs warms my hands. He lets out a low, animalistic noise, and the next thing I know, Foster pulls out one of the fancy wooden folding chairs and sits down, adjusting me on top of him.
Finally, he can stop using all his strength to hold me up. I watch in awe as he reaches backward and tugs off his shirt in one rapid movement over his head.
I suck in a breath at the sight of all that skin, the definition of his shoulders, his arms, his chest. He has chest hair, but not overly thick. Reddish brown gentle swirls lightly accent his chest and stomach. This feeling I have looking at him, sitting so close to him, on his lap, feeling how turned on he is…I want everything, and I want it right now, and I don’t know what that will do to my plan to stay single and happy.
I don’t know if this will lead to eventual heartbreak or if this is a one-time hookup. But stopping to have that conversation is an extreme boner-killer in the moment.
So instead of that, I peel off my top and watch Foster’s reaction to the pink sports bra underneath. It’s slightly too small, and my breasts bulge a little, but it’s the only one that keeps me from bouncing painfully while I run on the treadmill.
He looks from one to the other like he’s trying to decide which one to attack first.
“Damn, you’re pretty, you know that?”
My thighs give another squeeze. “And you feel like a fucking beast down there.”
Foster growls in response, and our mouths come together in a heated, passionate kiss while our hands roam everywhere.
His skin is warm, and his muscles are tight everywhere I touch them.
Eventually, his mouth lavishes attention on my neck. I gasp as he reaches back and gently pulls my hair to expose more of my throat to him.
Oh, shit. I like that way too much.
Those lips claim me as his beard brushes against my upper chest.
I can’t help but let out a small moan. And when I do, I feel something move between my legs. His cock has moved on its own, and we both notice it.
Foster growls low against my throat, and I think I just might soak through my stretchy pants.
The idea of him being so hard for me makes my head spin and my heart pound.
One thick, rough finger hooks through the metal loop at the front of my sports bra, and he arcs an eyebrow at me. Asking permission with his expression.
I answer the implied question with a lick of my lips and another squeeze of my thighs.
Foster gives a tug, and the zipper opens. My breasts spill out, and his nostrils flare.
The way he stares at my tits and licks his lips—yeah, this is a boob man, through and through.
My insides are on fire as he takes one breast into his warm, wet mouth and licks his tongue over my hard nipple. He cups the opposite breast and slides one finger over the hard bud, and it feels so good I wriggle on him.
My hands fist his hair, and I writhe on him as he kisses, teases, squeezes, and toys with my sensitive breasts.
Every inch of my skin feels ripe and ready for more, but I force myself to close my eyes, relax, and enjoy the ride.
Foster worships my breasts like they’re some kind of treasure, and I am happy to eat it all up. I’m delighted to let him do what he wants, driving me mad with delicious need in the process.
And then, Foster drops the bomb that ruins everything by speaking.
“You’re so fucking sexy, Ari. Who needs a fucking matchmaker?”
Chapter
