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I’m grateful to the sex gods for that decision. Miles’s gaze skims over my curves. “You are sexy times a million, Kitty.”
I feel it. Especially with the way he’s looking at me.
Miles closes the gap between us and drops his head, kissing me softly. “Wanna make out with me before we lose the underwear?”
“Yes, please.”
He laces his fingers with mine and guides me to the bed, then rushes to move his wallet to the nightstand and pulls the covers back. I climb up onto the bed and he follows. We lie down next to each other, and I hook a leg over his hip, pulling him closer. And we do exactly what he suggested. We kiss and touch, an unhurried, gentle exploration.
I pull him on top of me and wrap my legs around his waist so we can grind against each other. His lips move along my neck and over my collarbones. And then he starts to go lower. He stops at my breasts, teasing my nipples with tongue and teeth, before he goes lower, pressing a kiss above my navel.
The fingers of his free hand trail down my side and over my hip. He follows the edge of my panties down to the junction of my thigh. He slips one finger under the fabric skimming my sex and at the same time he kisses my inner thigh. I suck in a breath when he brushes over sensitive skin.
He lifts his head, eyes hooded with lust. “I want to put my mouth on you, Kitty.”
“I would really, really love that.”
One side of his mouth curves up in a devilish smile as he shifts so he’s kneeling between my thighs, fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties at either hip.
I lift my butt, making it easier for him, and he drags them down my legs, tossing them over the edge of the bed.
And then he settles between my thighs and drops his head, teasing me with his lips and tongue. Every time I moan or gasp or sigh, it’s met with a lamenting meow on the other side of the door, followed by the horrid sound of nails dragging down the wood surface.
Miles lifts his head and calls out. “Dude, you are killing the mood here!”
“Maybe we should put on some music? Drown him out?” I suggest.
“Good call. My phone is in my pants.” Miles hops off the bed and grabs his pants, shaking them until his phone drops onto the floor. He quickly cues up a playlist, turns the volume up as high as it will go, and sets it on the nightstand.
I meet him at the edge of the bed and rise on my knees so we’re eye to eye, and I can kiss him. I run my hand down his chest and slip my hand down the front of his boxers. Miles groans into my mouth as I wrap my fingers around his length and stroke him a few times. I reach across the comforter and find his wallet, which I fold his hand around.
“I want you,” I tell him between kisses.
“I’m right there with you.”
We rid him of his boxers, and he climbs back up on the bed with me. He dumps the contents of his wallet on the comforter in his search for the condom. There are several free coffee coupons from a local café, a couple of business cards, some cash, and a single condom. I pluck it from the mess and tear it open, make sure I have it the right way around, and then roll it down his length.
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down on top of me. His erection glides along sensitive skin and nudges my entrance. Miles lifts his head, and our eyes meet as his hips sink down and I tip mine up. We both exhale on a groan and say, “You feel so good,” at the same time.
Our smiles mirror each other. Then we chuckle and sigh as the laughter makes all my parts below the waist clench and his erection kicks inside of me. He lowers his mouth to mine, and I wrap my arms and legs around him. And then we start to move, finding a rhythm, learning each other in a new way.
His phone blares from the nightstand beside us, “We Are the Champions” crooning loudly as Miles moves over me.
“Oh shit, this is my workout playlist,” he pants.
“It’s very motivating.” Not exactly romantic, but then I’m not sure it would be effective if the songs were slower and quieter. In the pause between songs, Prince Francis can be heard yowling on the other side of the door. But as soon as the next song starts, it drowns him out. My moans and words of encouragement are also helpful in drowning out Prince Francis’s lamenting.
