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I was straddling Dante and rocking against him as he felt me up, kneading at my flesh, and soon that was not enough either.
I pulled my mouth away.
He let me, but I could tell that he really, really didn’t want to.
I smiled at him and took my shirt off.
His breaths grew into jagged pants, and I loved the way his hungry, adoring eyes drank in the sight of me.
To reward him I took off my bra.
“Jesus,” he muttered before bending down and taking one sensitive tip into his mouth.
This I could hardly take. I needed something, more, anything, but couldn’t articulate any of it because I wasn’t quite sure what it was.
So I just kept rocking on top of him while he licked and sucked at my sensitive breasts, his hands cupping them, kneading them, feeling at every inch of flesh I’d bared until he had it measured and memorized, all the while making noises like he was losing his mind.
Eventually he laid me on my back and brought his lips back to mine.
“Take your shirt off,” I told him. I needed to feel his skin against mine, his chest against my breasts while they were still wet from his mouth.
He straightened and did it, then paused for a moment, his hands going to the button of his pants.
I’d known he was growing by the day, getting less lean and more bulky, but it wasn’t until then that I saw just how muscular he was now. Looking at him then I saw not a trace of the boy I loved. Instead I saw the man he was becoming. A man I knew even then that I’d spend my life being infatuated with.
I watched unblinking, legs sprawled apart, wearing nothing but my shorts.
He squared his jaw and took his hand away then crawled back between my thighs still wearing his jeans.
I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
This was even better than before with him on top rubbing hard between my legs, our chests smashed together, his mouth hot and hungry on mine.
His hands explored me again, reaching every place they could with our mouths melded together.
He shifted off me and slid his fingers slowly, tentatively up my inner thigh.
I squirmed, hands in his hair, kissing him for all I was worth.
When I didn’t stop him, he reached higher, grazing his fingertips up into the legs of my shorts.
I stiffened a bit but still didn’t stop him.
My shorts were tight, and his big hand going into the leg hole made them tighter, but somehow he managed to get it in there and then he was grazing my sex lightly with his knuckles.
I was intimidated, but it felt good, so I rubbed myself tentatively against the top of his hand.
He moaned into my mouth and turned his wrist until he held me in his palm.
I rubbed and rubbed against him until his hand was slick from the contact.
“Jesus,” he muttered at me. “You’re wet.”
The way he said it, like it was so significant, was foreign to me, but his tone just about did me in.
He started pushing one of his thick, blunt fingers into me and I stiffened like a board, my nails digging into his scalp.
“Mmm, God, oh God,” he breathed at me, pushing the finger in deeper and deeper, until it started to hurt.
