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“What are you talking about?”
“Liza,” I say. “Maybe it’s not her, but it’s going to be someone like her. You looked right together. She’s your type. Me? I don’t…”
“Faye,” he breathes, pressing his lips to mine. “You’remy type.”
“The women you date though,” I say, shaking my head. “They’re tall and sexy and brunette and—”
“They look nothing like you,” he says. His grip tightens against my face. “If I couldn’t have you, I had to forget you. I knew—I thought that you would always be out of reach. So I tried to distract myself.”
He kisses me again, softly. But it quickly turns hungry. He slants my head and I open for him, letting him take control of the kiss. It’s hungry and frantic and passionate. And it’s not enough.
“The things you do to me,” he whispers against my mouth as he presses kisses down my jaw, my neck, to my ear. “All I’ve thought about since, is you. This mouth” —he presses a kiss to my lips— “this neck” —he nips at my throat— “these breasts.”
He steps back and his eyes drift down my neck to my chest. He reaches for the tie at my waist and tugs at it, the front of my wrap dress spreading open between my heavy breasts. He takes me by the waist and turns me toward the mirror, wrapping his arms around me. I lean back against him, letting my head fall back against the curve of his shoulder, my eyes fluttering shut as his fingers stroke up my stomach to the swell of my breasts.
“Look at me, Faye,” he says, his voice strong and commanding.
I meet his gaze in the mirror, and then follow his eyes as they drift south, as his fingers trace the open neckline of my dress up to my collarbone and back down.
“Look at yourself, Faye.” His voice is low and domineering.
He nudges my dress open, revealing my full, soft breast, my nipple hard and puckered through my black lace bra. His fingers trace the underswell of my breast, circling around my nipple in increasingly tight concentric circles, until they finally dance over the crested peak. My eyelids flutter shut as I let out a low, throaty moan.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he says, nipping at my neck. He rolls my nipple through the lace between his fingers. “These tits,” he says, using his other hand to tug open the opposite side of my dress, exposing my other breast. “I’ve been thinking about these since I first saw them six months ago.”
“Six months?” I say, frowning.
The strip club. My core flutters and pools with heat as I remember the way he watched the stripper expose me, put my breasts on display. And then he’d walked away. Gotten a cocktail waitress’s number. A cocktail waitress that he ended up dating.
“You didn’t seem to like it,” I say, softly.
He shakes his head, pinching my other nipple, giving it the same attention as the first.
“The things I wanted to do to you…” He presses a long, heated kiss to spot on my neck just behind my ear that has me whimpering. “They weren’t the things you do to afriend. I didn’t think you wanted that. Not from me.”
“I did,” I say, feeling a little bubble of hurt as I relive how it felt to see him get someone else’s number after feeling so vulnerable with him.
He pushes down my sleeves and unhooks my bra. The bra slips down my arms, the straps leaving ugly red marks on my shoulders from keeping my heavy breasts supported all day. He kisses the mark on my right shoulder, and then my left. I grip the edge of the countertop, my knuckles white.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says in my ear, the gravel in his voice making me clench my thighs.
He rocks his steely erection into my lower back as the hard, marble countertop rubs against my mound, the dueling pressure making me gasp as he cups my breast with his rough, calloused hand. With the other hand, he grips my chin and lifts my gaze to take in our erotic reflection.
“Look at how sexy you are,” he growls in my ear.
My skin is flushed and my eyes are half-lidded. My lips are pink and swollen, my breasts heavy, nipples dark pink and puckered. As his hand slides down my stomach, dipping into the front of my black cotton panties, my core pulses, hot and tight. His fingers find my slick center and I moan, my head rolling into his neck.
“No one else turns me on like this.”
He strokes his fingers through my slit, coating his fingers in my wetness and circling my nub with them. I moan as his hard dick pulses against my back, and a satisfied growl escapes his throat, vibrating through me.
“Do you feel what you do to me, Faye?” He notches his erection between my cheeks and rocks into me for emphasis.
“Yes,” I gasp.
He does it again as he pushes two fingers inside of me. My pussy flutters around his fingers and he bites away a moan into my shoulder.
“Look at the way you respond to me,” he says.
