She does, lifting her chest toward me.
"Jesus." I slide my palms over her ribs. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you obey me?"
A moan bleeds from her. She moves restlessly but doesn’t lower her arms.
Goddamn. I’m torn between watching her writhe and fight her desire as she strives to obey me, and this need to feel her naked against me. My need wins out. For now.
I lower the zipper of her sweatshirt.
She’s wearing a sports bra. It’s tight enough to have her tits swell and bulge over the top. The elastic of the yoga pants encases her fleshy stomach and shows off her thick thighs.
I bend and kiss her.
She shivers. "You make me feel beautiful, despite my flaws."
"You are beautiful."
I continue to kiss my way down her yoga pants to her crotch. I kiss the triangle at the apex of her legs and draw in the musky scent of her arousal.
"They are not flaws. They are what makes you who you are. And, Baby, you are perfect."
I bite down on her pussy through the stretchy fabric.
She mewls, shudders, and tries to pull away. I gnaw gently on the nub of her slit, and she cries out. "Oh God. Oh God. Oh… James."
I hold down her hips, preventing her from pulling away. Then I rub my chin between her pussy lips, using the friction to arouse her further. Looking into her face as she groans, cries out again, mutters words I can’t make out under her breath. The arousal on her face tells me she’s close. I continue with my ministrations, releasing her long enough to massage my fingers across her slit.
I forge ahead in earnest, when she arches her back, and her mouth opens in a soundless cry.
"That’s it, baby. Come for me, Ember."
With a sudden jolt, she shatters. Her body seizes, then locks up; a low moan emerges from her.
I get up and kiss her deeply. I remind her, “Remember, don’t moveyour hands. I’ll be right back,” before I head to the en suite to grab a pair of scissors.
When I return, she’s breathing heavily, stretched out for me.
"I hope you’re not attached to those?" I growl.
"Wh-what?" She stutters.
"Your clothes. Hope you’re not attached to them. I’m going to cut them off."
"Okay," she wheezes.
"I’ll buy you new ones, I promise." I slide the scissors beneath the center of her bra, the cold metal resting against her sternum for one heartbeat. I cut with slow, deliberate movements. The blades slice through fabric with a whisper.
The ruined bra springs apart, baring her breasts.
Goosebumps rise across her skin like a tide.
I set the scissors on the bedside table, then settle back between her thighs. My hands find the waistband of her yoga pants. I drag them down her legs, peeling away the last barriers between us, along with her socks, and drop the bundle to the floor.
Then I just…look. At her. Naked. Mine.
"Spread your legs wider."
She does it at once. "Yes, Chef."
