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His tongue found the dip under my collarbone, making a tremor course through my system.
"Can't get enough of this skin," he rumbled, just barely audible as his tongue and lips confirmed his words, claiming every inch of it that they could, making me suddenly wish I was one for skimpier outfits that allowed more of me accessible to him.
Caught up, my hands left his ass, finding his arms, pulling them, placing them at the hem of my shirt even as my own arms raised, slowly going overhead, inviting him to get more of me, to claim as much of my skin as he wanted.
He didn't even pause, his fingers curling so hard into the fabric that I was sure he would rip it before he relaxed them, finding some sliver of inner control, allowing him to raise the material up just an inch as he lowered down before me, pressing his lips to the exposed skin. And for every inch he exposed, his lips and tongue explored it, tasted it, made sure I would never be able to look at the skin again without remembering this, without thinking of the way he called every inch of myself his.
It wasn't something I would normally allow a man, to stake his claim, to make it so that I felt I was sharing myself.
Sex had always been something simple, something basic and primal. Just bodies slamming into bodies. Just an urge being fulfilled.
This didn't feel like that.
This felt like something more.
Something more than me and my need.
Something more than him and his.
It felt like something I didn't have words for, something that they made songs about, wrote poems about.
Connection.
A desire that was neither mine nor his, but both of ours, something we didn't experience as two separate beings, but shared as one.
This was that thing.
That cheesy word.
That one that made my cheeks heat even thinking it.
Because it sounded antiquated.
It sounded like something sickly sweet.
But I was starting to understand that while it could be that, it didn't have to be that. Sighs and declarations.
It was simply what we were experiencing, something that brought sex to another level. That made it something else entirely.
Lovemaking.
His nose brushed the edge of my bra as his hand fisted the material of my shirt right above the swells.
"These should be outlawed," he growled into my chest.
I felt my lips curving up as he slowly got back to his feet, allowing him to pull the tee up my arms, discarding it over my wrists and hands, dropping it carelessly to the side. My arms stayed raised above my head, and his hands took advantage, softly tracing down my forearms, over the oddly sensitive crook of my elbow, down the ticklish skin of my inner arms before they found my shoulders, fingers hooking the straps of my bra, slipping them off my shoulders before his hands slipped down the sides of my breasts, going behind my back to seek the clasps keeping me from his view.
He paused, eyes finding my face, showing me the heaviness of his lids, the need so blatantly on display in the dark depths beneath.
His fingers made a quick crook, releasing the clasps in record time, the sides bouncing free, loosening the cups, making the straps slip down my arms.
His hand found the center of my chest right below my neck, slipping downward gently, teasing the flesh between my breasts before snagging the bra, pulling it downward, letting it drop to the floor at our feet, keeping eye-contact for a long moment, showing a restraint I knew I could never be in possession of before he finally gave in, his eyes dropping lower, his air hissing out of him as he seemed to sink, right down to his knees again, pressing his head between the swells for a long moment, the movement oddly like prayer, like he was giving thanks to the universe before his head suddenly shifted, his teeth snagging one of my hardened nipples, sinking in without mercy, making a searing hot pain/pleasure take over the sensitive peak, making a choked moan escape me.
Everything about this was new, unexpected, something I found myself wholly unprepared for.
This unspeakable sweetness paired with an almost savage intensity.
My entire system felt off-kilter, on-edge, unsure what to anticipate, yet eager to find out.
Wetness pooled between my thighs even as his tongue lapped over my nipple, easing the soreness before going right across my chest to repeat the same torture.
His hand went down my belly, snagging the front of my jeans in his fist, but not pulling the material down, just grasping it, just promising more, everything, an end to the desire that was bordering between pleasure and pain every moment. But not before he showed me the depth of pleasure that could be brought about from just his lips, tongue, teeth on my breasts, tracing the sensitive undersides until shivers racked my body, only then gently tracing a path down the center of my stomach, his hand finally working at the button and zip, freeing them.
