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“Come over here,” Jonas says, throwing his tie to the floor. “I’ve got some ideas for how I can make you even cooler.”
“Oh, yeah?” I say, walking across the room towards him, slow and seductive. Part of me almost wants to laugh at myself for doing this, for being ‘sexy.’ I never thought of myself that way. But somehow, I’m doing it. I meet him where he sits, moving between his open knees so his hands can easily come up and run up the sides of my legs.
“How does this feel?” he asks, running them slowly up my sides, right up to the straps of my bra.
“I don’t know,” I say, rolling my head back a little. “I don’t think it’s cooling me down. Maybe I’m just wearing too many layers.”
“Oh, well, we can fix that,” Jonas says, his hands brushing lightly over my skin again until goosebumps raise, then back across to the straps of my bra where they meet behind me. His quick hands unlatch the fastening, letting it come loose. I hold my hands against my chest in mock outrage, keeping the cups in place.
“You’re just trying to get me naked,” I say, looking down at him with pretend wide eyes.
“It’s the best way to stay cool,” Jonas points out, his teasing fingers tracing the line of the top of the cups across my flesh, making the fabric dip down lower.
“Well, if you’re sure it will help,” I say, letting go of the bra and letting it fall to the ground. “I guess I’ll just have to trust you.”
Jonas runs his hands over my breasts, cupping them completely and squeezing for a moment before drawing back to circle around my nipples. They rise to attention as I gasp, steadying myself with my hands on his shoulders. “You know, I think the touch of your skin makes me feel cooler,” I say. “It’s really helping.”
“Oh, well then, I should help you out some more,” Jonas says. He reaches down and unbuttons his shirt, pulling it off over his shoulders and discarding it. “Here, why don’t you put yourself against me?”
I shimmy closer to him until our hips are together and my bare breasts press against his chest. I can feel how hard he is through his pants, and he wraps his arms around me to draw me into a deep and passionate kiss.
The role play drops away, along with our words, as his hands roam over my back and down to the panties and garter belt I’m wearing. I feel a shiver of anticipation building through me, knowing exactly where his hands are going to go and what he's going to do to me. Even if I know how it's going to go, I still can't get enough of it. The way he's going to make me feel, the absolute ecstasy that waits for both of us. It's almost more than I can bear just to wait for it.
His hands snap the straps of my garter belt before moving back to the sides of my panties, where they are tired only by a string at either hip. I picked out a delicate pair with white ribbon to match the nature of the occasion, and Jonas reverently and slowly pulls the ribbons apart until there is nothing holding my panties in place. I shift my hips slightly and they fall to the floor, leaving me exposed and open before him.
His fingers find me, rubbing over my most delicate nerves, enticing gasps, and moans from me. I shiver again, wanting nothing more than for him to bury himself inside me. I run my hands across his chest, pushing myself close to him again, bending my head down to kiss him. There are still too many layers of fabric between us. Even as he strokes me, even as his fingers slip inside me and make me cry out, my own hands work on his belt, pulling it free of his pants. I’m a flurry of fingers and thumbs, trying to get his button and zip undone while he whips me into a frenzy with his ministrations.
I don't need to tell him what I want. He knows already. But even so, he delights in keeping it from me by pushing me further and further into my own pleasure, making it impossible for me to move or speak or control myself. I don't know whether it’s the fact that we are now married, the excitement that goes along with it, or simply that Jonas’ fingers are more skilled today, but I don't think I can hold on much longer. I find myself reaching a peak already, ready to spill over the edge.
“J-Jonas,” I say, gasping his name. It's the only thing I manage to say. I want to tell him to stop, to wait, because if he doesn't...
