"Yours," she agrees breathlessly, and the surrender in her voice makes something primal and triumphant roar to life inside me.
I pull back just enough to look at her properly, taking in her flushed cheeks, her kiss-swollen lips, her dilated eyes dark with want. She looks thoroughly debauched already and we have barely started, and the visual evidence of my effect on her makes my cock throb with almost painful intensity.
"You are wearing far too many clothes," I inform her, my hands already reaching for the hem of her paint-stained sweater, the worn fabric soft beneath my fingertips. The casual observation comes out with all the gravity of a formal decree,as I prepare to divest her of every last barrier between us.
She laughs, the sound slightly unsteady but genuine, though there is an edge of breathlessness to it that tells me she understands exactly what I intend. "Says the guy in three layers and a belt," she counters, her hazel eyes dancing with challenge even as her chest rises and falls more rapidly. She reaches up as if to touch the henley stretched across my chest, then seems to think better of it, her small hand falling away. "Though I supposefair is fair. I could help you with that particular problem if you would like."
The offer hangs between us, heavy with implication, and I feel that low growl building again at the thought of her small, delicate fingers working the buttons free, peeling away the layers of control I have maintained for so long.
"A problem I intend to remedy shortly," I assure her, dragging the oversized sweater up and over her head in one smooth motion. The movement reveals a simple cotton bralette, pale blue and completely unadorned, and somehow the casual practicality of it is more arousing than the most elaborate lingerie could be. "But you first. I have been fantasizing about getting you bare beneath my hands for weeks now, and I refuse to wait any longer."
Her breath hitches sharply at my blunt, unfiltered admission, the sudden intake of air audible in the charged silence between us. Color floods across her cheeks in a deep, flustered blush that spreads down the delicate column of her neck, staining her skin a warm rose that makes her look impossibly younger, impossibly more vulnerable. She processes exactly what I have just confessed to her, weeks of desire, weeks of restraint shattering in a single sentence. "You have?" she asks, her voice emerging small and uncertain, a thread of wonder woven through the question. Her hands, which had been so confidently working at my shirt moments before, now fall still, and I can feel the rapid staccato of her heartbeat beneath my palm, matching the frantic rhythm of my own breathing.
"Constantly," I admit, reaching behind her to unhook the bralette with fingers that are almost comically large for such a delicate task. The fabric falls away and I am greeted with her breasts, full and soft and perfect, her nipples already peaked and begging for attention. "Every time you walk around the apartment in those thin tank tops, every time you stretch andthat sliver of your stomach shows, every time you chew on your bottom lip while you are painting. You have been driving me to distraction, Chantel. Making me want things I had no right to want from my roommate."
"Well," she says, her voice taking on a breathless, teasing quality even as her hands come up to work on the buttons of my shirt, "I guess it's a good thing I'm giving you permission to want them now."
I capture her hands before she can finish with the buttons, bringing both of her small wrists together in one of my much larger hands and pinning them gently but firmly against me. Her eyes widen at the casual display of my superior strength as her pupils dilate even further.
"I will undress when I am ready," I tell her, my voice rough with authority. "Right now, I want to focus entirely on you. On mapping every inch of your body with my hands and mouth until I have memorized exactly what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you fall apart beneath my touch."
I release her wrists and place both of my hands on her thighs, just above her knees, and begin a slow, deliberate path upward. The leggings she wears are soft and worn, and I can feel the heat of her skin radiating through the thin fabric as my palms glide higher, pushing the fabric up as I go.
"Faugh," she breathes, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders again, gripping tight enough that I can feel the slight bite of her nails even through my shirt.
"Say my name again," I command, my hands reaching her hips and hooking into the waistband of both her leggings and the simple underwear beneath. "I want to hear it while I strip you bare."
"Faugh," she repeats, and this time the word emerges not as a measured plea but as a needy, trembling whimper that reverberates through the kitchen air. The desperate, almostfractured quality of her voice, so at odds with the confident artist I know her to be, sends a surge of possessive heat straight through my core, pooling at the base of my spine and hardening my already straining arousal into something almost unbearable. I can feel myself thickening further against the confines of my slacks, the pressure building with each ragged breath she takes, each helpless sound that spills from her lips.
I drag the fabric down her legs in one smooth motion, lifting her just enough to pull everything free and toss it aside without care for where it lands. She is completely naked now, sitting on the kitchen counter with her thighs spread around my hips, and her like this steals what little rational thought I have remaining.
"Beautiful," I rumble, my hands spanning the delicate expanse of her thighs and pushing them wider still, opening her completely to my hungry, possessive gaze. She’s laid bare before me, flushed and glistening with her own arousal, sends another surge of primal satisfaction through my chest. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Mine."
"Yours," she agrees again, breathless and urgent, and the simple word seems to unlock something deeply feral and primal inside me, something that has been straining against the careful bonds of my control since the moment she first crossed this apartment's threshold. The beast inside me roars its approval, demanding that I claim her, mark her, ensure she knows exactly who she belongs to.
I lower myself to my knees in front of her without ceremony, the motion deliberate and controlled despite the raging inferno beneath my skin. The shift in position brings my face level with her core, and she can clearly see the raw hunger burning in my eyes as I take in her. Her breath catches sharply in her throat, and her thighs quiver slightly at my proximity.
"What are you—" she stammers, her voice fracturing on a note of anticipation and uncertainty, one small hand reachingdown as if to touch my face, then hesitating, uncertain of her boldness.
Her words dissolve into a broken moan as I lean forward and drag my tongue through her slick folds in one long, deliberate stroke. She tastes like salt and musk and something uniquely her, and the flavor floods my senses until I am growling against her wet heat, the vibration making her thighs tremble on either side of my head.
"Faugh, I can't—it's too much—" she stammers, her voice climbing to that breathless pitch that makes something primal inside me surge with satisfaction. But even as the words tumble from her lips in protest, her hands are already tangling desperately in my hair, her fingers threading through the strands and pulling me closer with an urgency that belies her stammered objection. She is not pushing me away. She is drawing me in, her body speaking a language far more honest than the fractured protests spilling from her mouth.
I wrap my arms around her thighs, holding her firmly in place, and proceed to devour her with single-minded focus. I map her with my tongue, learning what pressure makes her gasp and what rhythm makes her hips buck helplessly against my mouth. When I find the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of her folds and suck gently, she cries out sharply, her grip on my hair tightening to the point of pain.
"Yes," I growl against her, the sound muffled against her heated flesh but no less commanding in its raw intensity. "Let me hear you. Let everyone in this entire building know exactly who is making you feel this devastatingly good, who has you trembling and falling apart on their mouth like this."
She whimpers, her head falling back as I redouble my efforts, alternating between broad strokes of my tongue and focused attention on the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes her wholebody shake. I slide one thick finger carefully into her tight heat, and the way she clenches around the intrusion makes me groan.
"So tight," I rumble, working my finger slowly in and out while maintaining the rhythm of my tongue. "You are going to struggle to take my cock, are you not? Going to need careful preparation before I can fit inside you properly."
"I can take it," she gasps, her voice wavering with breathless determination even as her thighs tremble around my shoulders. The raw conviction threading through those words, the sheer stubborn will of her despite being completely undone on my mouth, makes something primal and possessive shift deep in me. I smile against her slick flesh, the curve of my lips pressing into the soft, heated skin of her inner thigh, and I cannot help but rumble my approval at her courage.
"We will see," I tell her, adding a second finger and feeling her stretch around the increased girth. She hisses slightly at the burn but her hips rock forward, seeking more, and I reward her bravery by curling my fingers upward and stroking firmly against the sensitive spot inside her that makes her vision go white.
Her thighs clamp around my head and she screams, her entire body going rigid as her orgasm crashes through her. I work her through it relentlessly, my fingers and tongue maintaining their rhythm until she is sobbing and pushing weakly at my shoulders, overstimulated and shaking.
I rise to my feet, my fingers sliding free from her still-clenching heat, and bring them to my mouth to suck them clean while maintaining eye contact. Her eyes go wide as she watches, and I can see fresh arousal already beginning to build despite her recent climax.
