He chuckled, and the sound rumbled from him into me. A sweet erotic feeling that had my toes curling into the sand.
“It was summer, and I was old enough that they were used to me hanging out at the baseball field. I would play my game, then stay to watch the others. I sat at the top where the back is higher to keep people from falling off, and I just dozed off.”
I nodded, readily able to imagine it. I had two brothers, after all, and they could sleep anywhere, at any time.
“How late was it when you woke up?”
“A little after ten. Not that late, but I remember opening my eyes and seeing the stars. So many filling the sky. It took my breath away.”
I could imagine that in my mind’s eye. Better yet, I could look up into the starlight and see it for myself. “My parents would have freaked,” I said.
“Mine did, too. And they got me a cell phone the very next day. So it worked out great for me.”
I smiled at that, and when I felt his lips on my neck, every part of me stilled. The soft scrape of his teeth, the heated tease of his breath, and the slow shift of his hands across my lower belly. I let my head roll to the side, giving him full access to my neck and shoulder. I thought he might just go wild, but he didn’t. He continued the slow, gentle feasting that set my blood on simmer.
Or maybe it was more than simmer, because all too soon my breath was short and my hands slid up his thighs to grip him. Part of me was still shocked by my own behavior. I didn’t kiss on the first date. I certainly didn’t sit under a pier and think about letting him touch me every way possible. But the feelings were real. The hunger so delicious, simply because I’d never felt it before. So intense, so pure. And when his hands slipped under my shirt, I shivered in delight.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said as his thumbs started moving back and forth on the underside of my bra. Each brush sent flares of heat through my chest that cut off any other attempt at language.
“I’m usually a leg man,” he said. “Especially if you’re athletic. But the minute I saw you, I changed my mind.”
“Sure you did,” I said, my tone laced with sarcasm. I just couldn’t believe that any man would change his preference based on my extremely average boobs.
“I did,” he stressed. “And I’ll prove it to you.” Then he pressed a kiss to my jaw, right under my ear before whispering, “I’ll stop if you don’t like it.”
Then before I could guess what he meant, he reached between my breasts and popped the clasp. I had no idea how he knew what kind of bra I was wearing, and no voice to ask. I simply gasped as he efficiently brushed the cups aside before lifting me in both his big hands.
“I’ve been dying to do this all night,” he said as he rolled his thumbs over my nipples.
Oh holy God, it was amazing. Sparks. Sparks everywhere bursting where he touched. And he had big hands, so he touched a lot of me. He held my breasts. He kneaded them. And he rolled the nipples between his fingers. He just played with them while I tried not to pass out from the pleasure. And all the while, he kept talking. Casual conversation about how much he loved touching me.
“Your skin is so soft, I can’t really believe it. Like I’m touching baby powder. I know that sounds awful, but I don’t think I’ve ever touched anything so soft. And the size—”
“You like small?” My words were breathless, and I couldn’t stop myself from arching more into his hands.
“These aren’t small,” he said. “They’re the perfect handful. And a good weight.”
I’d never had anyone lift my breasts as if weighing them, but he did. And he saved it from being weird by groaning deep in his throat. “You have no idea how much guys dream of doing just this. Just, you know, playing like this.”
“Really?” I whispered.
“Really,” he said. And then there was little talk because he was busy enjoying himself and my brain was fading out from the sensations.
I needed to touch him, and gripping his legs wasn’t enough. So I reached up and back with one hand and wended my fingers into his hair. He was still bent near my neck, and I felt his breath hot and sweet across my skin. I was so busy pulling his head toward me, I didn’t fully notice when his right hand left my breast to unbutton my jean shorts.
Or perhaps that wasn’t true. I pretended not to notice because I wanted his hand there. I wanted him pushing down between my thighs and underneath the tight red lace.
“I’ll stop if you want me to,” he said.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” I whispered. “I’m a good Chinese girl who doesn’t even laugh loud.”
“I know,” he stressed. Then he pushed one of his big, long fingers between my folds. “I know you haven’t, and I can’t believe how lucky I am.”
He knew just what to do. He didn’t shove at my clit like he was drilling for oil. Instead, he took his time, rubbing me slowly as he rolled down between the folds until he pushed inside me. Then he reversed directions, coming out on an equally sweet stroke. My belly began to ripple, tightening unbearably as my breath stuttered in and out. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Right here in the open. But when I might have pulled in against him, he hooked his feet under mine. I was so involved in his stroking that this time, I really didn’t notice. Not until he worked his legs under mine and bent his knees. My legs just lifted up and fell open. Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t have the inner-thigh strength to combat his muscular legs.
There I was, draped open while his hand worked between my legs. His left hand continued to twist the nipple of my left breast, but his right hand was thorough as he stroked in and out of me. First one finger, then two.
