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“Aye, in a minute.”
The third button. The fourth. His mouth follows his fingers down. He acts like he has all the time in the world. I, on the other hand, am really quite impatient to see him naked again. I’ve been looking forward to it for some time now, and the brief glimpse I got a few minutes ago before he pulled his boxers back up was nowhere near enough.
“Ryan.”
“I heard you.” A kiss between my breasts, just above the lace of my bra. “I’m busy.”
He reaches my waist, then keeps going. By the time he gets to the last button, I’ve run out of patience. I hook my fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tug them away from him, and for one glorious second I catch a glimpse of pink—the head of his penis, peeking out at me—before he shifts down the bed to slide my knickers off, and the elastic snaps back into place.
“Oh, come on.”
He chuckles. “Patience, flower girl. My cock’s no going anywhere. But I’m fucking loving how desperate you are for it.”
He moves back up the bed, slides a hand behind my back, and lifts me upright, then peels the dress off my shoulders and down my arms. He unhooks my bra and draws it away before lowering me onto the pillow and sitting back on his heels.
And that’s me, completely naked, on my own duvet, with Ryan staring down at me like he hasn’t eaten in a week.
He is, I note with considerable chagrin, still in his boxers. They’re not doing a great job of containing him, mind you. The outline of him is very obvious.
“Can I taste your pussy?” he asks.
My whole face goes hot. “Yes, but—”
That’s as far as I get. His head is already between my thighs, and whatever I was going to say about him taking his boxers off goes clean out of my mind.
The few times anyone has done this for me before, it was boys who hadn’t the faintest idea what they were doing. Lots of enthusiasm, very little skill. Ryan, on the other hand…oh!
His tongue…his lips…
He’s in no hurry. He uses his whole mouth, slow and thorough. Every time I gasp or twitch, he notices, and he does it again, and again, until I’m making noises that would normally mortify me. When my hips start to wriggle, he hooks his arms round my thighs and holds me exactly where he wants me.
He groans against me, a low rumble that goes right through me, like he’s enjoying this every bit as much as I am. Goodness. Maybe he is.
My hands grip the duvet. Something winds tighter and tighter low in my belly, and then his lips close around me and he sucks, and oh God, oh God—
I come with my hands fisted in the duvet and my back arching off the bed.
Afterwards, when I open my eyes again, I find Ryan looking up at me from between my legs, very pleased with himself.
“You taste fucking delicious.”
Right, well, frankly I’ve no idea what to say to that. I’m not entirely sure I’m capable of speech yet anyway.
Apparently, he isn’t done with me yet because he reaches out and trails his fingers through me, slow and gentle.
I’m still coming down, and everything down there is so sensitive that the lightest touch makes me jump. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. His fingertips keep drifting back and forth, and each pass sends a little aftershock through me.
Then he finds my entrance and circles it with one fingertip.
“Can I put my cock in here?”
Goodness. Talk about being direct.
I lift my head off the pillow and look at him. “You may—if you actually take it out of your boxers first. Which, I might remind you, I have been asking you to do for some time.”
He laughs, then stands up on my bed. Thank goodness for high tenement ceilings or he’d have whacked his head.
He hooks his thumbs into his waistband, pushes his boxers down, and kicks them off.
