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Click.
Zipper.
Click.
My jeans slide down to the floor.
I feel like I might explode from the need to touch her, but there’s something infinitely more powerful about not touching her, about relinquishing control to her, if only for the moment.
She rakes her nails down my chest, and I shiver.
Click.
She pulls down my boxer-briefs just slightly, so the barest hint of un-tanned skin shows.
Click.
She removes them entirely, and I step out of them, snatching the camera from her again.
I grab her underwear forcefully.
Click.
I slide them down her hips, and when they reach her knees, I stop to take another photo.
Click.
I remove them completely and take a picture of her bare hips.
She snatches the camera from me and drops it on the bed.
“Touch me,” she begs. “Please.”
I don’t have to be told twice.
I spread her legs, kissing my way down her thigh. I revel at her little gasp when my tongue touches her pussy.
“Oh, Jace,” she moans, her hips bucking and her fingers tugging on my hair.
I swirl my tongue around her smoo
th skin, sucking at times.
She writes against the bed and it fills me with satisfaction to feel her fall apart beneath me—to know that I do that to her.
Sex has always been just about sex to me—the act itself.
But with Nova it’s so much more.
It’s an art form.
I move up her body, swirling my tongue around her right nipple and gripping her left breast in my hand. She moans, her hips rising to meet mine. With my free hand, I push her hips back down to the bed and hold them there. She whimpers and I smile, kissing her.
“Jace,” she breathes between our lips. “Need. You,” she pants brokenly.
I move my hand in-between us, finding her slick and wet already. I easily slip a finger inside and she gasps at the intrusion, her wide dark eyes flashing up to mine. She looks at me with an inexplicable trust. She knows I won’t hurt her and that I’m about to show her the greatest kind of pleasure.
I skim my lips down her neck, and she shivers, her nipples tightening.
