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In an attempt to lighten the mood, I undo the top button on his shirt. “This fine garment would make for a great blindfold.”
He lets me undo the next button without taking his eyes off me. Doing my best to contain the tremble in my hands, I unbutton his shirt completely. He helps me with the cuff links. I push his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.
He reaches for me, but I pull away, eyes latched to his torso.
All I want right now is to slow down this beautiful, infinitely rewarding moment. The discovery of Louis, aka the Sexiest Man Alive.
I take the time to savor the hue and the quality of his skin, the slant of his shoulders, the outlines of his muscles and the way they shift, the lay of his chest hair and how it tapers down his abdomen to dip under his belt…
Finally, I pry my gaze off him and shift it to his shirt on my lap.
With care, I fold it into a scarf, my fingers reveling in the satiny touch of its material. “Shall we?”
“Must we?”
“Yes.” I work the cloth into place and tie it securely.
“So, you want to be in charge, huh?” he says with a wolfish grin. “In that case, I’m going to let you handle everything from A to Z.”
I sit back, admiring the result of my work. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to lie on my back, and you’ll pleasure me.”
“How?”
“In any and every way you can think of.”
I lick my lips. “You think you can restrain yourself and be the passive recipient of my ministrations?”
He fumbles around him to grab two pillows and gauge his position relative to the headboard.
Setting the pillows on top of each other, he stretches out on his back and clasps his hands under his nape. “It’ll be hard, but yes, I think I can do that.”
A new, tantalizing boldness emerges deep inside me and fizzes to the surface. I won’t even try to understand or analyze it. All I know is that I can’t stop looking at him. I’m burning to touch and taste him all over, to make sure that every bit of his body connects one way or another with every bit of mine.
Sitting on my heels beside him, I trail my fingers up his arms and chest.God, he’s so beautifully built!I trace the outline of his collarbone. And then, surprising myself, I bend down and lick it. I lick his shoulder, too, playfully biting the fleshy areas, peppering his entire upper chest with wet, sucking kisses. I feel electrified, insatiable.
Looming above him, I watch his magnificent body as I devise my next move. The raging erection that tents his pants is a joy to behold. I feel empowered. I am Camille the Conqueror, and this delectable studmuffin is my perfectly willing conquest.
“Don’t stop,” he rasps. “Don’t you stop now!”
“Who’s stopping?” I touch him again.
His chest heaves beneath my advancing fingers as I stroke him. I pause at a flat nipple. I rub it with my fingertips, and then I rub it some more with the sensitive center of my palm. I do the same with the other nipple.
“You like that?” he asks huskily.
“I do.”
I love the way his body responds to my touch, the way his breath hitches when I flick my thumbs over his nipples.
Can I make him moan?
I glide my hands down his chest, over his stomach and down to the waistband of his pants. It’s mind-boggling how much I want to see the rest of his body. But I force myself to not rush this. I leave my hands on his belt for a moment longer before moving to his fly. The metal tab is cold against my hand. It’s a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from beneath. I unbuckle his belt. He lifts his hips off the bed. I scoot lower and pull the zipper down. Hooking my fingers into his waistband, I make short work of his pants and underwear.
His cock springs free. That he can’t see me ogle it is the most liberating thing ever. For a long, wondrous moment, I admire its curve and size, its veins, the delicate shades of red, white, and pink. A perceptible shiver of anticipation runs through his body.
“Turn around,” I command out of the blue.
