“Now, instead of moving forward, you’ll want to take the needle back down where the last stitch ended.”
She does it flawlessly, and tilts her chin up to show me her smile.
“Just like that. Look at you.”
She’s a natural. I hate that fashion school knocked her confidence. After working with interns atLamont, I know most of them come in knowing how to sew. I can imagine Tessa feeling a bit behind if she’d never learned.
Excited, she starts sewing faster, pulling a bit too roughly for the stitch.
“Don’t pull the thread too tightly. You want even tension, or else the fabric will pucker.”
Tessa sighs, frustrated.
“Here, I’ll show you.” I move behind Tessa on the bed, my thighs against hers, and reach around her with my arms. I place my hands on hers and guide her to pull the needle slower, more gently, through the fabric.
“Like this,” I murmur in her ear, continuing the movement over and over until a longer stitch begins to form.
We stay in this position, me wrapped around her, sewing in peaceful silence. After a few minutes, she seems okay on her own, so I pull one of my hands away and lean back on the bed.
“No, leave them.” She tugs my hand back. My fingers brush against her bare forearm as I reach for her again, placing my hand on top of hers.
“Gio,” she whispers.
“Yes?”
“Touch me?” she asks, barely above a whisper.
I rub my thumb across the top of her hands. “Like this?”
“No.”
I swallow, nearly certain what she means but wanting to hear her say it, that she wants me as much as I want her. I gently trail my fingers up her forearm toward her shoulder, leaving goosebumps in my wake. “This?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“You want me to touch somewhere else? Hm, baby?” She nods against me. “Where?”
“Everywhere,” she breathes.
I feel my cock get harder, my entire body aching to release the tension that’s been building between us. “How about this? You keep practicing, and I’ll make you feel good.”
She arches her back against my front, and her hair tickles the bottom of my chin. I remove my hands from hers as she continues to sew.
Bringing my palm up to her neck, I gently circle her throat. Then I trace a slow line down the slope of her neck to the top of her breasts, taking my time as I stroke the swell of them underneath her short nightgown. She shivers from my touch. I carefully pull the top of her nightgown down, exposing her nipples, and groan. I didn’t think it was possible, but she’s even more beautiful than I imagined. Hooking my chin over her shoulder for a better view, I brush my thumbs against her nipples and watch them harden for me.
Tessa breathes in sharply and drops her hands to her lap, distracted by my touch. Grinning, I remove my thumb from her nipple.
“Keep sewing, remember? Practice makes perfect,” I murmur in her ear.
She moans, picking up the fabric and needle, resuming her stitch.
“God, I love your breasts. I’m going to massage them while you work on your line.”
True to my promise, I touch them as Tessa sews. Every so often I circle her nipple with my finger, drawing a whimper.
Then, I press my lips once below her ear and leave a trail of soft kisses down the column of her throat. I give her skin a soft nip.
“Bene, Tessa. Look at us. We’re both busying our hands.” My hands drift down her stomach, and I hike up her hem. When I realize she isn’t wearing anything underneath, I give her a small lick of appreciation on her collarbone.
