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I pull away long enough to lift her sweatshirt off and reveal a lacy maroon bra with center seams that run straight across her nipples.
“Goddamn,” I murmur as I trace one of those seams, feeling the hardened pebble underneath. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”
Running my hands up her bare thighs and inching underneath her shorts, I keep my distance from her center and repeatedly chant the word ‘slow’ in my head. I dip down to kiss her neck, stopping to tug and suck on the gold hoops adorning her earlobes.
“Rigger,” she moans breathily.
“Feel good?” I check in on her.
“So good.”
“Can I take this off?” I run my finger along the top of the lace. I’ve already decided I’ll be asking for consent for every move I make.
“Please,” she begs.
With one hand, I unclasp the back and slide the straps down her arms, getting my first look at the tits I’ve spent so much time fantasizing about. They’re even better than I imagined, bite-sized with small, dark pink nipples.
“Touch me,” she whispers, placing her hands on the counter and arching her back.
I grip her neck and lean in to feast on her lips while my other hand tickles from her neck to her breast. I cup the soft swells, gently running my thumb across her nipple and swallowing her gasp as she tilts her hips, grinding her cunt on my jean-covered cock. I’m already leaking pre-cum, and I wonder how the hell I’m supposed to keep control of the situation.
If she were any other girl, I’d have torn off her shorts and banged her ten different ways by now. But she’s not any other girl. She’s my Navy.
I give one last nip to her lower lip before trailing kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. She smells fucking incredible and tastes even better. Moving lower, I reach her breast but glance up before I go further. Her eyes are dark and half-lidded, and her lips are slightly parted as she nods.
Not needing more, I grip her breast and flick her little nip with my tongue before taking it in my mouth and sucking gently. Goddamn, I love tits. Love everything about them, from how soft they are to how good they feel with my hand wrapped around them. Size doesn’t mean shit to me, especially when they’re attached to the woman I love.
I give that one a final flick before moving to the next, paying it equal attention. My erection is physically painful now, desperate for some action of its own. There’s no doubt I’ll be walking funny until my nightly shower, where I’ll relive this moment and jerk myself off.
“Rigger, I need. . . I want. . .” she whines, making me grin.
“I know what you need, babe. Give me a second.” I walk over to the fridge and pull out a couple items I had the kitchen staff bring down.
“Chocolate sauce?” she asks.
“And whipped cream.” I set the bottles on the island and return to my spot between her legs. “I’m going to take off your shorts and eat your pussy. Is that okay?”
Her cheeks pink up adorably. “Yeah.”
“That’s good, babe. You’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you.” I rest my hand on her cheek, showing with my eyes that I’m not being condescending.
She bites her lip and smiles.
“Put your feet up on the island and lift your ass,” I say.
She does as I say, helping me divest her remaining clothes, but the second her shorts are off, she pinches her knees shut. This will be the hardest part for her. She’s told me all about what my father did to her, and it all revolved around the one place that’s supposed to bring her pleasure and give life to this godforsaken world if she chooses. Instead, it’s a source of shame and pain.
Thinking about all that is a damn boner killer, but I’m gonna do my damndest to turn that shit around for her if she’ll let me.
I lift her foot, allowing her to keep her knees together as I rest it on my shoulder. Popping the cap off the chocolate sauce, I drizzle the smallest amount along her calf and set the bottle down. Her legs are freshly shaved and soft as I lay open-mouthed kisses over them, licking and sucking the sauce, hoping the sensation will pull her out of her head a little.
“That tickles.” She giggles as she tries to jerk her leg away, but I don’t allow it.
Taking a step closer, her calf resting on my shoulder, I repeat myself with the chocolate, only right above her knee. I can feel her eyes on me, watching intently and probably knowing where I’m going with this game. I’m so far out of my comfort zone with this shit, but I keep doing what feels right and hope it puts her at ease.
I’m not a romantic, and normally, I find the whole concept of romance stupid. For me, it’s always gone like this: I spot a chick I like, I introduce myself, maybe buy her a drink or two, then take her to the cabin and fuck her. There’s no planning dates or playing with food in the bedroom, but there’s nothing I won’t do for Navy.
Once the chocolate is cleaned up, I take another step, forcing her legs to part. I keep my eyes on her, not wanting her to think this is all about what’s between her legs, even though I’m dying to see what I’m working with. More than tits, I fucking love pussy. I’m not one of those assholes who refuse to give head. I love exploring what each woman has and figuring out what they like because it’s different for each one. To me, it’s a game and fuck if I’m not competitive.
