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“It gave me an excuse to keep you here so I could wake up next to you.”
Her blush starts in her cheeks and creeps down her neck until it booms on her chest. Lifting my hand, I push some of her thick hair out of the way so I can see it better then trace a single finger from her ear, down her neck, to the red splotches above her breasts.
“Kiss me,” she says, biting her lip when I immediately move closer to her.
“You sure?” I ask, my mind shifting gears and reprioritizing what I want out of this morning.
Ruby nods and leans closer to me so our bodies are pressed fully against one another. I know she can feel my morning wood poking into her hip, and I can even imagine that she is trying to figure out what she might be able to do about it.
She has another thing coming if she’s assuming I’ll be the only one receiving pleasure from the physical part of our relationship.
Instead of pressing my lips to Ruby’s, which I’m dying to do, I lift off of my side, pushing her to her back so I’m hovering over her. Before Ruby can even react, I’m sliding down her body, my nose tracing over her exposed skin, careful to keep my lips to myself.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice low and breathless as I pop the button on the little jean shorts she fell asleep in and drag the zipper down.
I don’t answer her, looping my fingers into the belt loops and tugging, my eyes feasting on her exposed skin as I pull them down her thighs, toned from years of healthy living, outdoor exploring, and yoga.
I trace my fingers over the fabric of her tiny panties, a lacy pink pair that rests softly against the prize underneath.
Ruby emits a soft panting sound as I stroke my finger straight down the center of her. She’s already getting damp. I can feel it beginning to saturate the material, leaving some bits slightly darker than others.
“Boyd,” she whispers as I stroke over her again. “What are you doing?”
I look up at her, across the length of her body from my place between her thighs, and I give her a devilish smirk.
“What am I doing?” I ask, taking each of her legs and propping them over my shoulders so I can settle in properly. “I’m kissing you.”
Ruby’s eyes flush with lust, but I shift my focus away from her face, tugging her panties aside and stroking my tongue long and deep through the crease of her lower lips.
God, she tastes better than I thought she would, like pure honey dipped in lust and wrapped in greed.
It’s the only way to describe what it feels like as I go after her core with long, thick strokes. I am the inventor of lust and the embodiment of greed. I want her taste and her smell and her body overwhelming my every sensation until I can’t breathe in anything but her.
A low, desperate wail comes from above my head, and when I glance up, I see she is lying flat on her back with her pillow over her face, her fingers scrunched up tight.
Like she can’t take it.
I smirk but don’t stop what I’m doing.
That’s the edge I want to get her to. I want to nudge her slowly to a point where she feels like it’s too big, too much, the words she spoke in the shower yesterday coming back to me.
It’s a place other men have probably gotten her to before, the sensation building and building but never cresting. If I had to wager a guess, that desperation with no resolution is what makes her self-conscious, what causes Ruby to wonder things like Does he think it’s taking too long? or What’s wrong with me that I can’t get there?
As I flick my tongue over her clit and relish the way her thighs are squeezing my neck and ears, I formulate a plan. What I won’t have is Ruby pushing me away because she doesn’t think she’s worth the time it takes to figure it out.
I could spend years with my mouth attached to her core, drinking down her soft moans as she tries to muffle her reactions.
“It feels so good,” she says, lifting the pillow from her face and whispering to me. “But I want to kiss you, too.”
I shake my head, unwilling to let her deter me.
My goal isn’t to make her come right now. Who knows how many times we’ll need to do things like this before it happens—if it ever does.
But I do want her to give over to just enjoying herself, taking from me without the expectation of returning a ‘favor’ of some kind. She needs to know I want to worship her body, regardless of the raging hard-on that’s tenting my sweats and aching for her touch.
“You’ll need to wait,” I tell her, pulling my mouth off and using my fingers to drag her panties down. “I’m busy down here.”
I can see the thread of self-consciousness warring with desire on her face. She loves how it feels—I know it—but she doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. It’s the one thing she can’t seem to get past, and the one thing I think gets in the way of her allowing her body to let go.
