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Her plush lips meet mine, parting for me as she melts beneath my lips, her mouth honeysuckle sweet. My hand moves to her neck, and my fingers wrap around the base, the small hairs there trailing down, having escaped from the tight rolls she has her hair in, and tickling my fingers. I taste her with my tongue and lap at her lower lip like I’m a cat with a bowl of cream, but she’s so much sweeter than that. So much creamier and silkier. God, she’s perfection.
“Oh, oh goodness,” Azalea pants, pulling back slightly. She teases me by running her tongue along my lower lip as if she’s licking off my taste, taking me into her mouth where she can savor me all over again. Her shoulders heave hard like she just ran a mile. “I think I might be slightly…wet.”
Did I say I wasn’t going to pass out? I think it might happen again. Nine out of ten odds. The odds are against me. Is it decidedly unsexy to pass out? I suppose it would depend on the method of reviving. That could be quite fun. Still, probably much better that I don’t. I don’t need a second goose egg or a goose egg on top of my existing goose egg.
I can’t believe she just said that. Holy shit, did I imagine it?
While I’m worried that I might have just imagined it and none of this is real, Azalea grins up at me and pulls me down for another trail-blazing, fire-scorching, smoking, smoky smolder-y, smoldering times twenty kiss. She kisses the tarnation out of me, arching up, reaching up, and tilting her head to give me sweet, unfettered access to her beautiful, pliant, lovely mouth. She doesn’t let go until she has to come up for air. I feel like right now is an appropriate time to give her a fair warning.
“I have a confession,” I admit. I have to get this out there before anything goes any further.
“Oh?” she pants, and her brows do that arched thing. “I’d guess it’s that you only have a one-point-four-inch penis, but I know that’s not true. I can feel it pressing into me, and it’s a heck of a lot bigger than that.”
Oh my god. I’m blushing. I know I’m farging blushing.
“Uh, no.” I cough. Then sigh. And cough again.
“Sorry I interrupted you. Go ahead.”
It would be easier if she weren’t still pressed up against me, her hands gripping my shoulders, her eyes so big and wide and innocent. Eyes the color of every mood the sea ever had. “Uh, it’s…I….” If I don’t go for this, I know I’m going to chicken out, and she has a right to know. Full disclosure. That’s what I believe in. “It’s been a while,” I mumble with a sigh. “As in, over a year.” Try almost two, dipshittigan. “I…I’m not sure that my…well, I try and divorce my work life from my personal life, so I really don’t have a personal life. You know that I think. I’ve said as much. That means that uh…argh, I might be a little bit out of practice.” That would be correct if a little meant an embarrassingly large amount. Like a fuckton butt-ton, crapton.
Azalea smooths her hands over my shoulders, and her lips wobble into an easy smile. “You know, you have really nice shoulders. Shoulder porn. That’s you. I’m not sure you have to be in practice. I don’t know; I’m not really expecting an alpha experience or anything.”
“What if I embarrass myself?”
“I think you’re freaking out for no reason.”
“Do you?”
In response, she shifts her hands, working off the jacket of my tux. She slips it off, throws it to the floor, and steps back. Then, she eyes me up and down. “Yup. Most definitely shoulder porn. Take your shirt off. Let’s see what else we have to work with.” She starts undoing buttons faster than I can get my hands into place. My shaking hands, I might add. They’re none too stable. Her hands aren’t shaking. Her hands are working well, and she divests me of my shirt like a pro, then sighs gustily. “Pec porn. And definitely ab porn. Forearm porn, too. I would say naval porn, with that little trail of hair that dips down into the pants, but that’s been mysteriously shaved off.”
If I wasn’t blushing before, I’m definitely blushing now, though I’m not entirely sure it has anything to do with the shaving incident.
“It’s as I thought,” Azalea continues. “You make me feel all jelly-like inside. At least my legs. The rest of me feels like a storm of butterflies and hot lightning flashes. I feel too hot when you’re around. Do you have laser eye powers that you know of?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
I scratch the back of my neck self-consciously, but I’m grinning now. I notice Azalea’s eyes track the movement, settling on the play of my muscles and darkening daringly. She’s taking stock of my body, cataloging every muscle and nuance, but her eyes are like two burning coals, her pupils growing wider and wider with every second. What did she say about lightning? I think I might currently have a lightning storm going on too.
