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The rest of the dinner is much lighter. She asks me about some of my more memorable birthdays, which means we talk about when my birthday actually is. It was the week before we met. She is quick to make the joke about how she blew out my candle instead, which gets a huge laugh and an even bigger kiss.
We each turn in our stools until we’re facing each other. The tie on her robe begins to loosen and the sides fall open. She inches toward me until my only option is to pull her onto my lap. Her feet dangle on either side of me as my hands explore over her heated skin. She’s right. Knowing she was naked under the robe was torture.
Back on course, Goose. You have another maneuver to make.
I try to hold Dylan at arm’s length while she’s relentlessly rolling her hips in a slow figure eight against me. “Viper. I wantthis. Oh, how I want this, but I have a plan. You’ll want the plan. Trust me.”
With a little groan and a bit more coaxing, she stops her pursuit. When I’m able to fully move without difficulty, we walk hand in hand up to our bedroom. I switch off all the lights and direct her to sit in one of the low wingback chairs along the window.
I disappear into the bathroom and return with a bottle of lavender lotion, a tiny pale pink bottle, and a vanilla patchouli mixed candle for light and scent. “What is all this?” she asks.
“For your pleasure. Just sit back and enjoy.”
Dylan perches herself back in the chair and just before she curls on top of her legs, my fingers restrain her and pull her ankles toward me one at a time. The Cheshire grin she now possesses lets me know the light bulb has gone on and she knows what’s coming.
I settle on the footstool and lightly press into her right arch. Her arms slide the length of each side of the wingback chair, until her hands grip over the ends. Her toes point and her eyes close. The purr from the depths of her soul could shake the fresh snow loose from the trees outside the window. This is going to be better than I could’ve imagined.
I angle my other thumb into her left foot, so it doesn’t feel ignored. As I pull both of my hands back, her eyes open to small slits. “I hope you like pink. I know I do. All shades of it. The pink that covers the tops of your cheeks right now, for instance. Or the deep pink your nipples are, teasing me at the moment. Or better yet, the pink I know that waits for me later.”
She takes a deep breath as she pulls the top of her robe open even wider. “Were you always this dirty in your poetry?”
“It’s a new trait I’ve acquired. I wonder how that was inspired? Now, lay a foot in my palm. I’m going to try another new thing. Painting on a very small canvas.”
“Remember when I said how sexy I thought you were in the Hamptons? How powerful?”
“I do. Vividly.”
“This is up there.”
“See if you still feel like that in thirty minutes.”
“You think it will take you that long to paint ten toes?”
“Seven for the toes. Seven for the massage.”
“That leaves sixteen minutes.”
I grin. “It does, doesn’t it?”
I meticulously paint each and every toe. I don’t miss a stroke or paint outside the lines, even while she squirms a bit. My hand folds beneath the back of her knee and softly glides over her skin. Her heel cradles down into my palm and I go to work. Beginning softly, I blow on her toes under the veil of drying them. I know better.
Her thighs press tight and slide fractionally back and forth with every puff from my cheeks. I further her torture with a rounded slide of my thumb over her arch again, this time pressing deeper. Dylan’s toes curl over my hand and hold on. Her breaths begin to have the pulse of a heartbeat. I’m giving her pleasure I thought I only could give another way.
That realization only possesses me to keep going. As I abandon her right foot for her left, that fraction in between tells me quite a few things. She likes her present. This simple act of care is pushing her to a sexual edge. It also tells me, when I get to those last sixteen minutes, I need to pace myself. Not only for her, but also for me.
I repeat the process on her left. I watch as she anticipates every move as if it was a movie she’s seen before. She knows what I’ll do and when. I try to change it, but her smile guides me back in the same direction. We’ve hit our mark.
With one last puff over her perfectly pink beauties, I gently tug behind her knees. As I do, the fabric of her robe catches on thefabric of the chair and it slides open. The entirety of her body is exposed to me. It only takes a moment to marvel at her before I need more. “Don’t move,” I order.
Gravity calls me to my knees in front of her. Her right leg drapes over my shoulder like it was born to be there. My index finger, like the rest of me, wants to play. I start a line from the top of her big toe, running slowly down and over the arch of her foot. She wiggles and twitches. I’m not willing to analyze right now if that is because she’s ticklish or firmly something else.
Over her slightly bruised ankle, up her calf, and to the back of her knee, I pause for a second to let my lips taste her. I can feel the chill bumps rise beneath them, even with her skin so warm. Each imprint I leave is deeper than the last. The next step is her apex. I can audibly hear her inhale and hold the breath. She’s waiting. I am too. I have been.
Dylan
The time between the last kiss on my thigh and the next time I feel his lips touch my body feels like forever. My eyes are wide on him. I want to see the moment he touches me there. His confidence is erotic. Everything he’s done tonight has led to this. He wants to set me on fire. He’s absolutely succeeding.
A hint of his stubble grazes against the tender skin just beneath my own. It burns in the sweetest way. I don’t focus on it too long. I want to feel everything he wants to offer. His lips kiss up and down my line. The tip of his tongue parts me and my back instantly arches.
