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He has his arm stretched across the back of the couch and finally, feeling brave on my last trip back to refill our water glasses, the only feasible thing I could think of to do, I sit down on the middle cushion.
I don’t feel like it’s a signal, although at the same time I hope he reads it as that. He had been telling me a story when I stood up, but as I walked to the kitchen I could feel his eyes on me. And when I’d come back, he’d been even less concerned about keeping up appearances. His gaze roamed slowly up and down me, it felt like invisible fingers were caressing my skin. My nipples were hard in my bra and I could feel my pulse in my clit. If anything was a signal, it should’ve been my bright red cheeks.
Whatever it was, as I sat down, I felt his hand reach up and toy with my hair, just slightly. He looked like he was about to say something. His eyes darted between mine, then lower, to my lips, and then, without saying anything at all, he leaned in.
7
Brady
Her phone rings. Of all the times. Ya know, part of me is like, okay, this is a sign. I need to put the brakes on here. Get out before I do something I might regret. Make a fool of myself. What am I thinking? I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s gorgeous. Her clothes hugging her curves. The way she carries herself with this bit of nervousness always fighting it out with the confident young lady I can see just below the surface. I want her. Not just physically, though I can feel how hard I am. But who she is. That’s what I want.
I lean back on the couch, figuring I’ve dodged a bullet. Trying to think of a way to make a graceful exit. She’s got her phone in her hand.
“My aunt,” she says, looking at the screen. Then, looking up at me, a grin playing at the corner of her lips, she swipes the screen, silencing the ringer. “She can wait.” There’s a pause there. People always say you can feel the tension in the air, and having been in a few close scrapes myself, yeah, I’ve felt it. Usually, it’s when bullets are about to start flying, but here, this was something else entirely. This excited me, made me nervous, and gave me an almost-scared-but-not-quite feeling I hadn’t felt since the last time I waited for a rollercoaster as a kid.
The thing is, I didn’t know if she felt it too or not. There was something in her eyes, like she knew what was going on. But I didn’t see any nerves there. Not like I was feeling. I saw desire. I can only imagine what she saw in mine, but that look, probably only a split second in real life, is all it took to convince me I didn’t have any intention of leaving her apartment any time soon.
I lean toward her, partly feeling like I should have something to say, partly realizing that, with every inch closer I get, I’m not able to focus on anything anymore. I reach up and run my fingers along her jawline. She tilts her head toward my hand, her eyes closing just a little and that smile coming back to her lips.
After that, I stop fighting.
I pull her close, her body moving smoothly, softly, like she’s finding her home. I take her lower lip between mine. The flavor, something fruity, a gloss of some kind, making me smile just a bit. I’ve never been much for the glitz and glam kind of girl. This girl is real, down-to-earth. Probably buys her shampoo in the same aisle as I do.
I can smell it in her hair. Flowers. Lavender. Something. The sensation of being this close to her frying my circuits. The scent of her body, her perfume. Her lips are full, soft, and wet. I run my tongue along her lower lip and hear her moan.
She reaches up, running her hands along the back of my head, pulling me in closer as she leans back on the couch. She frees a hand, knocking her purse to the floor, not breaking the kiss, not looking to see what spilled out. Eyes closed, hands moving, her mouth locked on mine, I feel her tongue slip in my mouth, tentative almost.
I slip a hand down to her waist, down her thigh, pulling her legs up and back, laying her out on the couch so I can move on top of her, feel her, take her. She runs one hand down my arm, bringing it back up along my stomach, slipping it under my shirt. Her touch is warm, exploratory. Her nails run along my ribs and side, encouraging me to do the same.
Without thinking, without wondering, I reach down and grab the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. Her hair tangles and I can hear her giggle a little as we free her from the restriction of her clothing, from pretense, from control. I toss her shirt to the side, go up on one knee and pull my own over my head. If there was a moment for the spell to break, this would be it. She’ll see the old man in front of her and change her mind, pull the blanket off the back of the couch, cover up that porcelain skin, and kick me to the curb.
Instead, she reaches forward, grabs me by the belt, and pulls me back down.
I kiss along her cheek, her jawline, working down the side of her neck, and across the front of her throat. She’s constantly moving under me, bucking her hips up, running the arch of her foot along my calf. Her nails trace down my back, almost tentative at first, but as I begin to kiss along her chest, the top of her breasts, her nails begin to press a little harder, as if intending to keep me there forever.
I can feel her heartbeat on my lips when I kiss her breast, the firmness of its pace contrasting with the soft skin under my lips. Her nipples are hard, poking through the thin black fabric of her bra, begging for my mouth.
I run my tongue over the swell of her breast, teasing along the cup of her bra, and then take her nipple in my mouth, through the fabric, nipping at her just slightly with my teeth, wanting to prolong her arousal and anticipation just a moment longer.
With my right hand on her hip bone, I trace her curves and occasionally slip under the waistline of her pants. She arches against me, almost reading my mind, willing me to find the clasp on the back of her bra. My fingers find the hooks and, with a kind of snapping motion, undo them. She shakes the straps off her shoulder, giggling a little.
“Quite the tricky fingers you’ve got,” she leans up and kisses my neck, biting lightly at the skin.
“I’ve got a few up my sleeve,” I say, tossing the bra off to wherever her shirt is.
She laughs softly again, talking between kisses. “No sleeves, cowboy.”
I can feel myself smiling even as I move back to her breasts, taking the pink nipple of her left in my mouth, flicking its hardness with my tongue, holding it softly between my teeth, and tugging just a little. They say you can learn to read people for interrogation; figure out who’s lying by what they say, how they move. Megan doesn’t say much of anything, moans, and sighs, mostly, but the way she moves. I run my tongue along the slope of her breast, down to her cleavage, up again to her other nipple, her body moving with mine, arching, pressing. I can feel her breath quicken as I begin to undo the button on her pants, and can almost feel the warmth coming from between her legs already.
“I…,” she starts, then loses her words when I move my mouth down lower, across her stomach, licking along the inside of her hips, following the line of her panties with the tip of my tongue.
She has one leg hooked across the back of the couch, the other foot on the floor, opening herself up as far as she can. And still, even in this position, she finds a way to make it even more erotic. I slip my hands under her ass, getting a hold of the back of her pants, and she arches up again, pressing her hips high, doing anything she can to get her clothes off fast and her warm need close to my mouth.
I pull her pants down past her feet and throw them behind me. Her legs, smooth, shapely, and muscular yet feminine. I kiss along her calf, to the arch of her foot. She giggles again and then, surprising us both with her forwardness, I think, hooks her ankle behind my back and pulls me down toward her.
I don’t need any more convincing. Her light blue panties already have a growing dark spot, damp from her wetness, making my mouth water. I spread her legs open and kiss up the inside of her thigh; the heat and scent of her sex incredible. She moans and moves, trying to get my lips to hers, but I continue to take my time, moving just slow enough to drive her crazy. Her hands are in my hair, coaxing me toward her, and finally, I can’t take the anticipation anymore.
I lick slowly up the front of her panties, along each side, slipping my tongue underneath, and then slide them off of her. I kneel down on the floor, turning her on the couch so one foot is on the cushions, the other on the coffee table, her legs spread wide in front of me. I can feel my cock throbbing in my jeans, aching to get out, to be inside her, but first, this, first I want to make her feel amazing.
