I nod, focusing on my breathing, reminding myself that I want this.I want him to touch me.I fill my mind's eyes with the expression on his face when he saw my breasts for the first time—awed, aroused, stunned, eager.
He rubs his thumbs up and down under the lace of my thong, caressing the silky skin to either side of my sex.His touch is centimeters away.He kisses my mouth, steals my tongue and greedily devours it, pouring jet fuel on the crackling inferno of my arousal.I whimper, lean in.Kiss him back, kiss him harder.Clutch his waist, palm his pecs, feel the hard nubs of his flat little nipples, the column of his throat, the bulge of his biceps.Kiss him and kiss him, touch him everywhere I can find skin—the broad expanse of his back and shoulders, the hard plane of his flat, anvil-hard stomach.
His mouth leaves mine, kisses my throat.And oh, oh god, the ramping of my pulse is immediate, turning it into a frenzied tattoo in my veins.I tip my head back, offering myself for his mouth.He accepts my offer, kissing his way down to my chest.I cling to his shoulders and lean back, arch to press my aching breasts out for him.He growls again, and his mouth covers my breast—like last night, when he suckles on my nipple, my sex pulses madly, spasming as he flattens my nipple in his mouth, lets it go, flicks it with his tongue.I pant, gasp, arch, clutch.
His thumbs work inward, closer, closer.He kisses around my nipple, the other.Licks.Sucks.Tongue-flicks.
"Noah," I breathe.
"Okay?"he murmurs the question against my breast.
I nod."Okay."
I'm shaking all over in anticipation.My core is hot and throbbing and wet.Surely he can smell my arousal.It's leaking out of me.Part of me is mortified at the thought and wants me to close my legs, but I can't—I squeeze his hips with my knees, whimpering as his mouth drifts up from my breasts to my lips, and kisses me delicately, almost chaste, a touch of his lips to mine.
Yet, at that same moment, the rough pad of his big thumb scrapes over the seam of my sex, eliciting a sharp cry from me.I shudder, hunching forward at the contact.As I hunch forward, my hips tip forward as well, pushing into his ghostly soft touch.I cling to his neck, press my mouth to his temple, and shudder."Noah."
"So sensitive, Morgan."Another downward swipe of one thumb over my sex; another wracking shudder."When was the last time you came?"
“Last—last night," I gasp."Wait—the night before, I mean."
"You touch yourself?"
I nod against the side of his face.“Yes."
"Did you think about me when you touched yourself?"
I nod again.
"Can you say it, honey?"he pulls back, one hand cradling my cheek; his thumb caresses the lips of my sex in a slow downward slide, never quite making contact with my clit, never quite delving inside me."Let me hear your voice.Tell me what you thought about.Can you do that for me, Morgan?"
His voice is soothing, yet arousing.Strong and confident, yet gentle and kind.He's looking at me, watching me.
I force my eyes to hold his even though I want to close them, to hide from his scrutiny—not scrutiny: desire.Approval.
“This,” I breathe."You touching me.Kissing me."I swallow hard."Making me come."
"Is that all?"
I shake my head."No."
His thumb brushes my clit, and I jerk."Then what else?"
I press my lips to his shoulder.Rest my forehead there."Touching you.Opening your jeans.Feeling you.Making you come."I shudder, shake, gasp, whimper again as he passes his thumb over my clit so softly it barely counts as contact."Being naked with you.Making love with you."I swallow—or try to.“Other things."
“Like what, Morgan?"
Cheeks burning, I shake my head."I'm not brave enough to say it.”
"Can I guess?"
I nod.
"My mouth."He now, finally, caresses my clit with his thumb, making me jump, hips bucking.“Here."
"Yes!"I gasp.
"Anything else?”
