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I shrug out of my button-up but hesitate on the T-shirt. I worked a long shift, and I had to hustle. “I stink. ”
She casts her eyes at the ceiling and grabs my hem, so I lift my arms above my head and let her pull the shirt off me. When I open my eyes, her breasts are in my face, and I don’t see that I have any choice in the matter. I have to touch them.
God, she’s so fucking soft. I hold them, testing the weight in my hands. I haven’t forgotten the taste of her, the pressure of her nipple against the roof of my mouth. When she moans, I knock her over and fall on top of her, going after her with no art or plan or restraint. Sucking and licking, molding and squeezing, rubbing myself against her thigh, between her legs, over her hip bone, like a stupid kid.
Which is what I feel like. Young and dumb and lucky.
She’s just as bad, grabbing at me in fistfuls—hands in my hair, on my ass, gripping my hip, raking up my back. And still I make one more half-assed attempt to talk to her. “Listen, about the questions—”
She rubs the heel of her hand up and down my cock, and my jaw goes slack. My brain goes slack. All the tension in my body is busy flooding to where her hand is working me over.
“Later,” she says.
Later works for me.
She urges me onto my back and straddles me, centering herself over my hard-on, rubbing back and forth and swaying her tits in my face. I’m the luckiest guy alive.
I suck her and she rides me. Her skin’s so pale, one nipple swelling and softening, darkening as I twist the other between my fingers. Her eyes are closed, her throat mottled pink, her body rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm I can hardly bear. It’s been too long since I came. The first few days after she walked out of my room, I was seething with misplaced resentment. I whacked off like I was planning to make a profession of it. But after a while I lost interest, lost heart.
I’m out of practice.
Which is another way of saying I have the stamina of a fourteen-year-old.
I grab her hips and hold her still. She whimpers and rocks.
“Don’t. Baby. Seriously. ”
“It feels good. ”
“I know. A little too good. You keep that up, I’m gonna …”
She pulls at my wrists until I let go, puts them on her tits. “Go ahead. ”
“You want me to come in my pants?”
Her eyes drift closed. When I thumb her nipples, she sucks in a breath like I’m hurting her, and it’s really, really good. Then she bears down on me even harder.
“Caro, I mean it. ”
“I mean it too,” she says.
“It’ll be messy. ”
“You have to wash those pants, anyway. ”
“Yeah, but still. ”
“I’ll clean you up. With my tongue. ”
That’s the end of the conversation. My whole upper body breaks out in goose bumps—a sure sign I’ve only got seconds left. I get my hand behind her back, draw her down, stick my tongue in her mouth, and I’m kissing her when my toes curl and I have to throw my head back, close my eyes, the head of my cock unbearably sensitive, tingling fluttering clamping tightness moving up, out of me, hot against my skin, slick and slippery as she slows, kissing my neck, mouthing over my collarbones.
Jesus. Jesus.
I put my hand on the back of her head, and she giggles, tucked into the hollow between my shoulder and my neck. “That was an interesting noise. ”
“Shut up. ”
“Like you were dying. ”
