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I ran my fingers greedily over the hard lines of his abdominal muscles. I smiled in satisfaction when a tremor rocked his body and his eyes fluttered closed as his breath gusted between his lips. I loved that I could affect him this way. It pleased me to know that our relationship wasn’t just one way. He was as affected by me, as I was by him, and that was a beautiful thing.
“Make love to me,” I breathed and his eyes opened at my words.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured.
He eased his fingers under the edge of my tank top and I shivered at his touch, Goosebumps breaking out across my skin. He tapped a finger against my belly button ring and then his hands began to venture higher. Before reaching my breasts, his hand descended once more, and he grasped the bottom of my tank. He tugged it over my head and tossed it behind him.
He unsnapped my bra and threw it behind him as well. “That’s better,” he smiled, taking my breasts in his hands, testing the fullness.
“Trace,” I whined, lifting my hips slightly.
“Patience,” he whispered in my ear, his voice raspy. “Good things come to those who wait, Olivia.”
I mewled in protest.
Waiting was torture.
“Please,” I begged.
“No,” he growled, pulling my earlobe between his teeth and nipping it.
I whimpered, not because it hurt, but because he wasn’t giving me what I wanted.
I grasped his dark hair between my fingers and gasped when one his fingers delved into my shorts.
Now we were getting somewhere.
But when I was close to an orgasm he pulled his hand away. I cried out in displeasure.
“Trace, please,” I cried.
“Not yet,” he kissed my belly, “not until I’m inside you.”
“Then hurry up,” I demanded.
“Not yet,” he repeated, kissing his way up my stomach, over my breasts before finally reaching my lips.
My mouth opened beneath his and his tongue flicked against my own.
My hands found his belt and undid it with ease. I popped the button and slid the zipper down, brazenly running my hand over the curve of his erection. Two could play this game.
“Olivia,” he gasped my name, the sound of it filling my body with warmth.
He kicked his jeans off and grasped me by the waist, moving me so that my head was on one of the pillows.
“You’ll be the end of me,” he whispered, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I could say the same about him, but all coherent thoughts had gone out the window.
His lips glided over mine before nipping at my chin and down my neck.
I was getting impatient, but I knew from past experiences that if I complained too much about his slow pace, he’d only go that much slower. I think he liked torturing me.
He moved down my body, hooking his thumbs into the sides of my panties and pulling them down. When they reached my ankles I kicked them off.
“I think you’re a bit over dressed,” I pointed to his boxers.
“Not yet.”
