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He pulls me closer, turning us around until I have my back against the wall.
Between a rock and a hard place.
Why is that a bad thing? It's a good thing. A great thing. Everything.
"Like this." He runs his fingers over my inner thigh. "No problem."
I press my lips to his.
He kisses back, softly at first, then harder.
My lips part. His tongue slips into my mouth and dances with mine. That's the only way to explain the push and pull of the motion.
We're tuned to the same movements, the same music, the same need.
The kettle steams.
He pulls back and sets me on the ground. "Coffee calls."
"Dare." My voice rises to a whine.
He smiles, victorious. "Yes?"
No. I may not win this one, but I want to hold my own. "You're right. We need the energy."
He motions for me to sit again. When I do, he turns off the stove, waits for the water to cool to two hundred degrees, fills the French press, sets the timer.
Four minutes.
How can three minutes feel like a million years?
I need to make it painful for him too. "Is that what you have in mind?"
"That's one way I want to fuck you." He looks directly into my eyes. "But it's not at the top of the list."
"There's a list?"
"A long one," he says. "With bullet points."
A laugh spills from my lips. "Is it in a Word Doc?"
"My sketchbook."
"Can I see?"
"Sure." He offers his hand. When I take it, he pulls me up, leads me to the couch, sits me down.
He sits next to me and pulls me onto his lap.
"This is number one." He nudges my legs apart and sets his hand on the strap of my tank top. "Here at first." He slides his hand between my legs. "Then here."
"Then?"
He runs his hand up my thigh, higher and higher and higher. So, so close to where it needs to be, but not quite there. "Then I take these off and I do it again." He brings his other hand to my chest and traces the neckline of my tank top. He taps the tank top and the button of my jeans. "Then this." In one swift motion, he wraps his arms around my hips and pulls my body over his so I'm straddling him.
Fuck, that feels good. "You're hard."
"Very."
"I like it."
"You like it?"
"Don't make fun of my bad dirty talk."
He looks up at me with a smile. "Did I say it was bad?"
I nod.
He shakes his head and curls his hand around my neck. "I like it too."
"I need it." I shift my hips in his lap. "Now."
"There's another minute on the coffee."
"Fuck the coffee," I say.
"Sounds painful."
"Please." I shift against him again.
He lets out a soft groan. "This first." He pulls the tank top over my head. "I've been dreaming about this." He looks up at me as he unhooks my bra and pushes the straps off my shoulders.
The garment falls between us.
He presses his lips to my neck. Then my collarbone. Then lower. Lower.
He wraps his lips around my nipple and sucks softly.
That feels good. Too good.
"That too." He presses a kiss right above my nipple. "I've been dreaming about your groan for too fucking long." He places his palm on my lower back, cups my breast with his free hand, and brings his mouth to my nipple.
A soft brush.
Then a little harder.
His lips close around me.
"Fuck." I reach for something to contain my pleasure. Get his t-shirt. I dig my fingers into the fabric, pressing the soft cotton into his skin.
Has it always felt this good to touch him? To soak in the sensation of his skin? The heat of it. The mix of softness and hardness.
I love it.
I need it.
I can't live without it.
He pulls my body into his as he toys with me again. Soft sucking to start. Then harder. Then the flick of his tongue.
He takes his time, testing different speeds and pressures, torturing me with the excess of sensation, winding me tighter and tighter. Then he moves to my other nipple and teases it just as mercilessly.
I need him to go forever.
I need him to fuck me now.
I need everything.
I rock my hips against him until he groans into my chest.
He teases me again and again. Every flick is agony and bliss. The best kind of torture.
He was right. He's good at this. He's really good at this.
I break the touch to do away with his t-shirt. I look into his eyes as I unbutton my jeans. It's not really possible to remove them in this position, so I shift off the couch and onto my feet and roll the denim off my hips.
He watches with rapt attention.
This time, I offer my hand. When he takes it, I pull him to his feet and lead him to my bedroom.
Dare keeps the door open. "Are you sure you're ready?"
