AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If this is too much, we don’t have to keep going. We can just talk. We can do whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
Everything about him was fast, his wit, his fingers, his text response time, everything except this nod that was so slow, so carefully deliberate, that the dip of his chin might as well have been his hands tugging on her shorts.
Raising her phone, angling it down on the tank top barely containing her breasts, her shorts barely covering her thighs, she said, “I want to show you everything you want to see.”
“Fuuuck.” It was half said, half groaned. She could have lived the rest of her life in the sound.
“But I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“What? FaceTimed?”
“Cole, don’t make me laugh right now,” she said, even though it was too late.
“I’ve never done anything like this before either,” he admitted. “But I can’t keep going onnotdoing it. I think about you every second of every day. I dream about you every night. Every time I walk past a store and see a cool piece of art or a soft, comfy-looking sweatshirt, I thinkI wonder if Mira would like that. Every day I spend recording or running the studio, scheduling sessions, having meetings, mixing tracks, doing things I should be paying attention to, things I should be caring about, all I do is watch the clock, waiting until I have a break so I can call you.”
He was able to put all the feelings swirling around her chest into words in a way she couldn’t, or at least wouldn’t let herself. And maybe it was apparent on her face, how he’d touched her, how his honesty had warmed her skin enough to let her feel perfectly comfortable inside it, because he ran his hand through his hair, and said, “Sorry if I got too earnest there. It’s just—”
“Can I show you something?”
His mouth opened, then stayed that way, his jaw slack, eyes ballooning while she slipped a finger under the strap of her tank top and slid it over her shoulder, exposing the upper curve of her breast, the fabric barely clinging to her peaked nipple. She watched his throat work through a swallow, his eyes glazing over.
“Is this what you wanted to see? Is this what you need, Cole?”
Again, slowly, as slowly as he ever moved, his chin dipped, his eyes never leaving the skin she’d uncovered for him. Even though people rarely walked through their alley, she pulled her gauzy curtain closed, keeping the moment safe, private, only for them.
Pushing the other strap over her shoulder, she kept her shirt up with her hand pressed between her breasts. “Do you want to see more?” she asked, brushing her fingertips over the top of her right breast.
He nodded, whispered, “Yes.” It was intoxicating, the way his eyes drank her in, the way he brought his phone so close she saw the golden strands fanning out from his irises like sunflower petals, the thick sweep of his eyelashes when he blinked. “Please, Mira.”
Removing her hand, letting her shirt fall from her left breast first, and then her right, she became a statue, motionless aside from her pulse pounding furiously in her throat, her phone trembling in her hand as the sunlight through the curtain lit her bare skin. When she forced herself to look up from her body to her phone again, she almost laughed.
His fist was at his mouth, his knuckle clamped between his teeth.
“Are you okay?” she asked, suddenly feeling far less naked, or at least less self-conscious about it. How could she be when he looked at her like he wanted to devour her?
“You’re so gorgeous,” he rasped. “So fucking gorgeous. I want to touch you. I wish I could touch you. Ineedto touch you.”
Emboldened by his wet lips, his blacked-out eyes, his obvious, open arousal, she asked him, “How would you touch me, if you were here?” while trailing her fingers over her collarbone. When he only stared, she asked, “Would you touch me like this?” She ran her fingertips down her sternum, tracing over the swell of her left breast, her thumb circling, drawing close to her nipple but not touching it.
“Yes. Just like that,” he told her. “If I was there, I’d find out how sensitive your nipples were. If they were as sensitive as your delicious neck. I’d find out if you liked it when I touched them, rolled them between my fingers, caught them between my lips, sucked them into my mouth.”
Any question of if this was a good idea or not turned to ash in the searing heat coursing through her core, the tiny heartbeat pulsing between her legs.
“I’d lick them,” he said as she moved her hand across her body, sliding her fingers over her right nipple. “I’d swirl my tongue around them, flicking the tip over—”
Her soft moan cut him short, her back arching away from the wall.
“Fuck, they’re so tight. Your nipples need my mouth on them, don’t they? My tongue. My teeth.”
“Yes,” she panted, more turned on than she’d ever been in her life, and he wasn’t even in the room.
“What else do you need, sugar? Where else do you need my fingers? My mouth? Tell me.”
It was almost too much, the tingle coiling tight in her core, the deep, incessant throbbing in her clit, the knowledge that if he was here with her, touching her, kissing her, he would be so, so good at it. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
His laughter surrounded her like mist. “I swear it on my life.”
