“I think you get off on letting me use your body like that,” he goes on. “On me being so fucking sure of what you want. I think you like seeing what you can take, Madeline, and I think it turnsyou onsomuch to know that what you can take makes me feel good.”
“Would it?” My voice comes out scratchy and strangled. I swallow. “If first thing in the morning, you found me making coffee in your shirt and nothing else?”
“Jesus, yes. I’d fuck you without saying a word. Just slide in and fill you up, but don’t worry, I’d go slow.” He presses a gentle kiss to my ear. “I’d be so gentle. Savor the feeling of you giving it up inch by inch, all tight and warm, first thing in the morning. Even if you begged for it harder, I’d be so soft, so sweet. As gently as I could.”
“No bruises? No bite marks? Not evenone?” It comes out pleading.
“Why would I torture you like that, you delicate thing?”
This from the man who came when I told him he left teeth marks. He knows what he’s doing, and maybe he can do this forever. I’m going to lose my mind, so I wriggle my hands under my dress, then squirm my tights off and leave them in a pile on the floor. Javi steps back a bit to let me complete the (unsexy) process, and then he’s pressing me in again, one hand on my lower back, the other locked around my upper thigh.
Slowly, he strokes the edge of the lace with one thumb.
“Did you wear these for me?” he asks, and I’m not too horny to roll my eyes at the cabinets.
“No, I wore them in case the aliens landed tonight and wanted to do some probing,” I say, and he pinches the soft skin on my inner thigh just hard enough to make me gasp.
They’re Fuck Me Panties, all see-through lace that shows off most of my ass with strings over my hips. I wouldn’t call them comfortable, exactly, but judging by Javi’s reaction, they’re effective.
“They match my bra,” I offer. “Unzip me if you want to check.”
Javi fumbles with the zipper and swears at the hook-and-eye closure at the top, and God help me, it’s hot. By the time he pushes the dress down over my shoulders I’m practically wriggling against the counter. He leans in and bites the muscle where my neck meets my shoulder.
I make a shaky, desperate noise, and he lets go, kissing the spot softly.
“I could leave marks all over your pretty neck,” he says. “Let everyone know where you’ve been and what you like.”
I shove my dress up over my arms and manage to push Javi back enough to get it all the way off, then turn around, still leaning against my kitchen counter.
He stares, which he goddamn ought to because one, my bra and panties match, and two, my tits look great right now.
“Hi,” I say after several long moments with zero eye contact.
Javi still doesn’t look at my face—which is fine; I didn’t wear this so he could look me in the eye—just skims both hands over my very-pushed-up breasts, then down my sides, until he hooks two fingers in the waistband of my panties and pulls until it cuts into my skin.
“Were you wearing this all day?” he asks, sounding bewildered. “Was this under your dress the whole time?”
I put my elbows on the counter and lean back a little, pushing my hips into his hand. “That’s the first thing you ask? You want an outfit report?”
“When I asked if you wore it for me, you got all sarcastic,” he teases, then hooks two fingers under the center front of my bra and tugs. “Fine. I like the outfit you wore just for me, Madeline. Your tits are fuckingspectacular.”
“You can touch them if you want,” I say. “Or keep looking. I like that, too.”
“Fuck,” he whispers and finally makes eye contact. “I’d bend you over right here, but I don’t think my ankle’s gonna take it after ice skating.”
I laugh, and he rolls his eyes a little. But he’s smirking about it, so I pull him in and give him the filthiest kiss I can, our bodies pressed together—him clothed, me nearly naked—rubbing myself against him. I moan into it, and he bites my lip, grinding against my hip, and finally I pull back.
“Come to bed. I’ll take care of you,” I say.
Thirty seconds later, he’s sprawled on top of the covers, grinning up at me as I stand next to the bed.
“Off,” I say, waving at his clothes.
He sits up and takes his shirt off deliberately, shakes out his hair, then tosses it into a corner. He takes his pants off more slowly, with considerably more dick-touching and groaning than strictly necessary. By the time he’s fully nude I’m twitching with impatience.
“At your service,” he says, grinning, one hand on his cock with the thumb sliding over the slippery head.
I crawl on top of him, pushing down on his sternum with one hand, and give him a long, slow, dirty kiss while he fingers the edge of the lace between my legs, just barely dipping underneath it.
