A barely there tangerine thong matches the bra. I rub a hand over the stubble on my jaw, my mouth watering at the sight of her stretched out on the bed.
I wish it was my own, not a hotel bed I’ll never see again.
Yet another thought I’ve never had during a hookup.
Her hand skims her side, and my gaze follows the curve of her body back up to her face. It’s a struggle to decide what I want to look at most.
“Like what you see?” she drawls.
“You could say that,” I answer, becauselovedoesn’t seem like a word I should be throwing around on night one with someone, even if it’s only about her body. Even if it’s the first word that comes to mind.
I toe off my shoes and shed the rest of my clothes. When I crawl onto the bed, her legs part for me without hesitation. I brace a hand near her ribs, my gaze roaming over her face.
“You’re gorgeous,” I murmur, giving her more of my weight as I lower myself and kiss her nipple through the tangerine fabric. “I love this.”
So much for leaving that four-letter word out of this.
I switch to her other breast, flicking my tongue over the mesh. “It’s very you.”
I don’t even know her that well, do I? But I know it’s true.
“Bright and obnoxious?”
“Bright and vibrant.”
Her lips curve, and I kiss my way down her body: softly over her sternum, a playful nip at her rib, tongue dipping into her belly button.
Her back arches, and she gasps, hips wriggling like she can’t stay still.
“Can I?” I press a kiss to the front of her panties.
“Yes, please,” she breathes, the words rushing out.
I chuckle against her skin. “So polite.”
She lifts her hips and sucks in a sharp breath as I hook my fingers under the sides of her thong and hitch them up, putting pressure exactly where she needs it, before peeling them off.
I’m torn between diving in and drawing this out. I choose the latter. For now.
I kiss the inside of one thigh, then the other, dragging my tongue along the sensitive skin where her thigh meets her center. The smell of her hits me, and my brain short-circuits. She’s driving me insane.
My tongue is flat when I finally lick from her entrance to her clit. I do it again. And again. Until she’s panting, and her hips move restlessly against my mouth.
I should be running my usual playbook: efficient, focused on the finish line. Instead, I want to take my time, learn her, and spend hours right here.
When I look up, our gazes connect. She’s propped on one elbow, knuckles white where her other hand grips her outer thigh. As if she reads it in my expression, she moves that hand to tangle in my hair.
She bites her bottom lip as I circle her entrance with my tongue, teasing, then dip inside while my thumb presses against her clit.
Her head falls back onto the pillow, and a keening whine spills from her lips.
I want more of her sounds. All of them.
“Miles,” she rasps.
I replace my tongue with two fingers, sliding them inside her, stroking the spot that makes her hips jerk, as I kiss her thigh softly.
“Hmm?” My mouth drags against her skin.
