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I take her hands from my shoulders and guide them to her blouse. She needs help. Needsme. “Start with the shirt.”
Her head tilts, her hands still. “So, am I in charge?”
I could laugh.Oh, lady, you are so in charge.She rules me. Eases me. Strips me of reason. I’m incapable of thinking straight around her, and I’m constantly fighting with my conscience and my instinct. Instinct always wins. “If it makes you happy.” I watch her as I remove my watch, her eyes clouding, her shaky hands starting to unfasten the buttons. The first one reveals her smooth décolletage. I gulp. The second her breastbone. The third, her bra. Fuck me, if this isn’t fucking about, I don’t know what is. But watching her giving herself to me, albeit slow as fuck, is satisfaction personified.
She releases the final button, exposing her front to me. I’m vibrating. Rapt.
Lace.
She pushes her chest out as she shrugs it off, but she doesn’t let it fall to the floor. She holds it out to the side in a loose grip, as my eyes travel over every inch of her skin, eventually making it to her face. Her eyes sparkle like priceless diamonds as she releases the blouse.
“I love you in lace,” I whisper.
She says nothing and starts on her trousers, my body temperature rising fast, my hands sweating, itching to grab her.Ava O’Shea, oh what you do to me.Take her.No, give her this time.Take her, she’s yours.No, let her have this moment.
Her hands pause in the tops of her trousers, and I look at her. She’s loving my condition.I’mloving my condition.Make her promise to never leave you.
I’m on fire, and never has being burned felt so good. I peek up through my lashes, finding nothing but pure, justified satisfaction plastered all over her face. “I could rip them off in two seconds flat.”
“But you won’t,” she says confidently. “You’ll wait.” She kicks her shoes off with a little too much force, and they land with a thud across the room.
I smile on the inside. She’s making the most of this. “Taking this a bit far, aren’t you?” It’s me who’s taking this too far, and I’m suddenly regretting it. I’m setting a rod for my own back, giving her a false perception of what our relationship will be like. The control in our bed has to stay with me, no question, because I feel like there is little control elsewhere.
She smiles and shimmies out of her trousers, and I’m hit between the eyes by more lace. That’s it. I’m done. I’m taking the control back. I reach for her.
“No,” she warns, and I halt, looking at her in surprise. No?
“Fuck you,” I growl.
Her smile is demure. “Please do.”
Oh? I grin darkly on the inside. And there it is. She doesn’t want the control. She just wantsme. And, like she’s done to me, I will make her sweat. I grab her and place her on the worktop, my mind spinning, conjuring up a plan, putting myself between her legs. Her warm, slender, long legs. Legs that were made the perfect length and shape to wrap around my waist. I don’t think I could have crafted a woman so perfect. I take her waist and pull her snuggly into me. Perfect. I roll my hips into her. Perfect. She breathes in, releasing the air on a shallow moan. Perfect. She holds me around my neck. Fucking perfect.
“I thought I was in charge,” she whispers, hoarse and low. Perfect.
“Wrong.” I remove myself from her space and strip down, not making a meal of it like she did. I’ll make her sweat in another way.
I stand before her, naked, ready, and admire her admiring me. “It’s rude to stare,” I whisper when her eyes falter on my abdomen, making her shoot those huge pools of diamonds to my face.
I have her attention again. I need to keep it. Stop her questions building. I put myself back between her legs, leaning past her, my chest meeting hers. Our skin melds, sticks, slides as I unhook her bra and cast it aside, my nose invaded by her glorious scent. My ears invaded by her rushed breathing. Pulling back, I take some support from the edge of the counter, wedging my hands there, keeping her eyes as I lower my mouth to her chest.
She bucks, then sighs, her head falling back, and she slides her hands into my hair, holding me lightly so I can pass from boob to boob, nipple to nipple, rolling my tongue slowly as she makes the most incredible sounds. I lick the length of her torso and slip my fingers into the side of her knickers. “Lift,” I say quietly, dropping a kiss on her chin. She complies immediately, making my task easy. “I’ll be back.” I drop her knickers to the floor and take a moment to drink in the perfection of her naked body on my kitchen counter. “I’m a bit peckish.” I head to the fridge and collect my tools, feeling her eyes on my back. I turn, my hands full. She’s in a trance. “Enjoying the scenery?”
She blinks herself back to life and diverts her stare as I shake the can of squirty cream, taking it to my mouth and releasing some.
“And that’s a staple food in your world?”
This should be a staple in everyone’s world. Along with peanut butter. And chocolate spread. “Absolutely.” She’ll agree with me when I’m done with her. Putting myself back where I should be, I shake the can and tap her chin. “Open.”
The sight of her pink, wet tongue nearly has me abandoning my plan. Nearly. This is going to be heaven. I lift the can to her lips and squirt cream into her mouth, smiling when she licks it up. She slowly leans back. I lazily skate my eyes over her flesh.
“Do your worst, Mr. Ward,” she says, happy with my plan.
I grin. Heaven. “This might be a little cold.” I give her no time to prepare, releasing the cream, starting just shy of her chin and finishing at the apex of her thighs, relishing the expansion of her chest. Perfect. I squirt a little more on her pussy. So perfect. I lick my lips, stand back, and take in my handy work.
“It’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?” she says on a playful grin.
Yes, yes, it is but, fuck me, this cliché looks pretty fucking perfect to me. I have another quick hit of cream, thinking how much better it’ll taste when I’m licking it from her flesh. “The old ones are the best.”Old.Like me. I kick that ridiculous thought away and focus on the woman before me.
