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“I want to kiss your Adam’s apple. And you aren’t allowed to keep your shirts buttoned up to the top when you’re making out with me. It’s a rule.”
He nips at my chin. “You making rules now?”
“My house, my rules.”
He grasps both my hands. “Only the top few buttons. I want to keep most of our clothes on. For now.”
I pout at him.
“Lie back,” he says. “May I touch your—”
I cut him off. “Listen, Anthony. You are far too polite to be real. From here to eternity you have permission to touch me anywhere you want.” I lift the hem of my pajama top, take his hand and place his palm against my warm skin.
He groans then while he resumes kissing me, smooths my pajama top back in place, but c
ontinues to caress me through the thin layer of fabric.
“You don’t want…” I trail off because his lips are insatiable and he won’t stop kissing me.
“Oh…I do want. Very much.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“When I take you, it’s going to be special. Not in your parents’ house.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
“Don’t teenagers know how to have fun without penetration?”
“Sure,” I breathe. He blazes another hot trail of small kisses up and down my neck, causing me to soak my panties even more. “Oral, handies…”
Rushmore’s lips find their way to my braless nipple, and he nuzzles it to a firm peak until it’s begging to make contact with his mouth. His hand closes around my breast as he scrapes his teeth across my erect nipple. I emit a small moan. He repeats this with my other breast, building my arousal.
“Have you ever touched a cock before?” he murmurs, his breath warming my skin through the soft material.
“No.”
“Want to feel how fucking hard I am for you, precious girl?”
“Uh-huh,” I say with some trepidation mixed with desire. Rushmore takes my palm and guides me to his hard length through his boxer briefs. I slip the heel of my palm up and down to gauge his size. I start at the tip and slide my hand down to the base.
“Fuck,” he grunts at the friction. “Yes.”
It’s huge. Long enough to be a little scary, and big enough I know there’s no way my fingers would fit the entire circumference if I were to pump him with my hand. And now I know what he means when he says I’m not ready.
Something in my movements has changed Rushmore’s expression. He goes from playful to dark and hungry. “Keep going. Slowly.”
While I keep stroking him, his hand reaches between my thighs and rubs my core.
“Yes,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering closed at the gorgeous friction.
Who knew clothes could feel this good?
He rubs me back and forth with the inside of his hand, changing it up every so often to massage my clit with the backs of his bottom knuckles. The slow rhythm and the tender kisses against my lips, my clothed breasts, nearly make me burst. My breath begins to come in short gasps. My hips have a mind of their own and I begin to roll into his touch, needing more, wanting more.
“Baby, look at me,” he says. I open my eyes and his sparkling irises bore into my soul. He kisses me again and again, but pushes me to stay focused on him while he pleasures me through my pajamas. Soon the thrusting of my hips and his magic fingers work my clit into such a frenzy there is nowhere else to go. I shatter apart in Rushmore’s arms. The orgasm rolls through me and I don’t know whether to gasp or scream. He kisses me up and down my neck while he holds me tightly, lovingly, causing wave after wave of mini explosions of pleasure to wash over me.
Finally, spent and panting, I collapse against his chest.
