Page 57 of Strictly Pleasure

Christ she’s responsive. What kind of idiots haven’t wanted her pleasure? Haven’t taken the time to learn exactly what gets her off? I tighten my grip on her jaw and she kisses me back enthusiastically.

“This okay?” I ask her, because consent is everything.

“More than okay,” she says, lifting her arm behind her to slide her fingers into my hair. Her nails scratch my scalp and pleasure suffuses me.

My girl likes a little power play? Okay then, bring it on.

I lift her off my lap and lay her back onto the sofa, my eyes feasting on her perfect body as I pull back from her. She’s still wearing her shoes – uncomfortable looking heels with a strap that circles her ankles. Hot as fuck, especially if they were wrapped around my hips, but I want her to relax.

So I unfasten them and slide them off. Her feet flex and I rub my thumbs against them, smoothing away the tension in her muscles. Then I move my hands up, savoring the feel of her legs, taking my time to smooth my thumbs against every inch of her, until I reach the back of her knees.

And she starts to laugh. “That tickles.”

I grin because I love her laugh. “It does?” I ask her. “How ticklish are you?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Pretty ticklish. But don’t go there, I hate being tickled.”

“Noted.” I nod, filing that information away for another day. Because there’s nothing I want more than to hear her scream with laughter.

The same way I want to make her scream my name in pleasure tonight.

I push the hem of her skirt up until it’s wrinkled over her thighs, and massage my way up her legs. I want her to get used to my touch. To relax under it.

To not be afraid of me.

I want her to welcome me. To beg me. I want her to need this the way I do. And from the way she’s looking at me, her eyes hooded, her lips swollen, I think she does.

Fuck I hope she does.

“Can I take off your blouse?” I ask her. She nods, her gaze never leaving mine. There’s something more than desire there. Something deeper.

It’s trust. She trusts me to make her feel good. And it makes my heart do a weird clenching thing.

Releasing her thighs, I lean over her, kissing her softly. “You’re doing so well,” I tell her, and she practically beams at me.

She likes being praised? That’s hot as hell. “Such a good girl,” I tell her and she moans. I kiss her hard because I can’t not kiss her.

Ineedto.

Like I need oxygen.

Her hands wrap around my neck as she kisses me back, her mouth demanding and needy. I slowly edge her top up her body a little at a time as we kiss, then gently tug it off to reveal her smooth stomach and perfect breasts behind a lacy half cup bra.

I kiss her throat and her chest, then the swell of her breasts. She watches me silently as I move my mouth to her nipple, sucking at it through the lace.

“Oh!”

I suck harder and she arches her back. I slide my hand behind her but don’t stop my ministrations to her perfect tits.

Nudging her bra cup down, I make contact with her bare nipple, scraping my teeth across it before lashing it with my tongue. Her fingers tangle in my hair as I do the same to her other nipple. I’m an equal opportunities kind of guy. And I’m quickly becoming addicted to the taste of her skin.

I reach around her back with my other hand, releasing her bra and sliding it down her shoulders. She has to lift her body up from the sofa to help me, her stomach tense and her back arched. I throw it to the side and kiss my way down her stomach.

Her legs part before I can even reach the waistband, her skirt hitching up until it’s covering nothing. Her panties are lace, too, matching the bra I discarded.

“Do you wear lingerie every time you present the weather?” I ask her.

“Yes. I like pretty underwear.”

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