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“Yeah. Lickable.” He licks his own lips as if remembering hers. “Plump. Juicy like some sort of fruit.”
“She sounds wonderful,” I say tightly.
“She was,” he agrees and I dig my nails in his t-shirt, hating it and wanting it off.
Because I want to get to his skin.
I want to scratch his skin.
Maybe I should have drenched him in my tears after all so he’d be bare -chested now and all available for me to scratch and draw blood.
“Although,” he continues, moving closer to me, putting his hand up on the bedpost, above my head. “That wasn’t the best part.”
“What was the best part?”
He licks his lips again. “Her dress.”
“Why, because it was skimpy?”
Because he’d notice that, wouldn’t he?
“No,” he rumbles. “That’s the thing though, it wasn’t. It covered almost every part of her.”
“So then why?”
“Because even though it did cover her up,” his voice drops low, “I couldsee.”
“See what?”
“Everything.”
My heart’s racing now. “Like?”
“Like the line of her panties.”
My breath hitches. And then explodes.
At the fact that he saidpanties.
Something that he’d typed in the texts. He said it exactly how I pictured it in my head.
Exactly.
Low, rough, deep.
And I swear to God, I feel my own panties coming alive, the elastic digging into my flesh, the fabric rubbing into my skin.
“I —”
“And her cute little belly button.”
I suck in my own belly as I feel it.
My own belly button.
Although I don’t think that’s even possible, but there you have it.
“It looked so fragile. So fucking delicate and small. Like a swipe on her tight little tummy. Made my mouth fucking water.”
