He draws it down slowly, like unwrapping a gift he’s been staring at all night, and peels my dress off. I have to shimmy my ass, so he can do it. Then I remember, with dawning horror, exactly what I’m wearing underneath it.
The shapewear.
The industrial-strength, thigh-to-underboob, beige monstrosity of shapewear.
“What the fuck?” Magma looks down at it like it personally offended him.
Kill me now.
“It’s shapewear,” I say, mortified, heat flooding my whole face. “I’ve put on weight, okay? A few pounds. It smooths everything out under the dress, and I wasn’t exactly planning on anyone seeing it, so…”
I start trying to wriggle out of the thing, which is a two-person job on a good day, and I’ve managed to get it halfway down my hips when he hooks his fingers into the fabric and rips it clean off my body.
He looks down at me, taking me in slowly. His gaze heats.
“You’re perfect just as you are.” He tosses the shredded remains over his shoulder and kisses me. “You don’t need bullshit underwear.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of mymouth. “In fact, the smaller your underwear, the better.” His mouth drops to my shoulder. “None at all works, too.”
“That was expensive,” I say weakly.
“You don’t need it. I’ll buy you a couple of lacy numbers.”
He reaches behind me and undoes my bra one-handed, and when it falls away, he pulls back to look at me and his eyes go dark.
“Christ.” He cups my breasts in both hands, weighing them. “I think your tits are bigger. I like these extra pounds. They went to the right places.”
“Stop.” I feel my eyes widen and my cheeks heat.
“I love them.” He dips his head and closes his mouth over my nipple, sucking hard enough that I gasp and grab his hair. “Perfect,” he says against my skin, moving to the other one. “You’re perfect. Every fucking inch.”
I smile and groan and then smile some more.
Then he pushes me back onto the table.
The wood is cool against my elbows, and he drags my panties down my legs, then he leans down and hooks my thighs over his shoulders and puts his mouth on me.
“Oh, my god,” I growl low.
He suckles on my clit, and my hips jerk right off the table. He pins them down with one forearm and does it again, slower, working me with his lips and his tongue while I grab uselessly at the smooth wood on either side of me. Then one thick finger pushes inside me, and I moan loud enough that my neighbors are definitely getting an education tonight.
“I love your pussy,” he says against me. “I missed it. Missed you.”
He groans against me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. The vibration of it nearly finishes me on the spot.
He adds a second finger, curling them, pumping them in a slow, deep rhythm while his tongue circles my clit, and mythighs start to shake against his ears. Wet sounds fill my quiet apartment, his fingers and his mouth and my ragged breathing, and I am making noises I have never made in my life. High, desperate, needy things.
My heels dig into his back. My hips are rolling against his face now, chasing his mouth, and I’m right there, right at the edge, squirming under him.
He stops.
I pant at the ceiling, making a desperate groaning noise.
He rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and grins at me. It’s the filthiest thing I’ve ever seen. I wrap my legs around him while he grips my hips and pulls me right to the edge of the table, then dips down through his knees, and I hear his zipper.
After that, we’re frantic for each other. My hands in his hair, his mouth crashing back to mine, him shoving his pants down just far enough, both of us breathing hard.
Then he lines up and thrusts into me.
I yell, my head falling back.
