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She’s asked for this…
Cursing under my breath, I tug the shirt free of my pants, lifting it up and over my head, then off. Mouth curving, her eyes roam my chest. Her fingers follow, winding into the hair scattered over my pecs, tracing over to the happy line trailing to my belt, then slipping inside the waistline of my slacks, tugging slightly.
Eyes locked with mine, she lies back, one arm curved back over her head onto the pillow. Wearing nothing but the bathrobe, the silhouette of her body ghosts through the fabric. Her lips quirk. “Not the clothes I'd have chosen if I was planning a seduction,” she murmurs.
“It doesn't matter.” My lungs heave. “I’ve fantasised for years about this.”
She tilts her chin. “So come and do something about it.”
The robe is tied by a knotted belt, but open at the top, displaying her neck and the line of her collarbone. I slide fingers down to trace the dimple there, fine, delicate skin, warm under my touch. Her eyes follow my fingers as I tug at the trailing tail of the belt. As it unravels, I slip the robe open. And I see her…
As I always dreamed of seeing her…
Her hair cascades over her shoulders, an escaped wisp trailing down her cleavage, a dark gloss against the white of the robe. Her skin, smooth and even, is the same pale olive as her face, although the nipples and aureoles are darker, a shade of burnt coffee that matches her eyes.
She arches, flexing, presenting herself to me. Humour glints in her eyes as she draws fingers over herself… Her stomach. Her breasts. “Hickman, I've said yes. Touch me. I want you to touch me.” Her scent billows, a warm bloom in the air that kicks my shaft to life, demanding action.
Following her fingers with my own, I trace her contours until, taking my hand in hers, she slides it over a breast. Under my palm, the flesh is soft and warm, the nipple pebbling under my touch. Its twin crinkles and tightens.
I stroke the tight muscled line of her belly, the slight curve dimpling into her navel, melding into the glint and curl of the dark vee of her loins. Trailing up, I follow the smooth valley between her breasts, flattened slightly against her chest, trembling in time with her heartbeat, rising and falling with her breathing.
My mouth is dry. A kind of bashfulness takes me.
Don't be so fucking ridiculous, man.
You know what to do with a woman…
How many have you had?
It doesn't matter…
… Because it never mattered before.
Turning my back to her, I sit on the edge of the bed to tug off pants and shorts. Finally, naked, I lie alongside her, my head pillowed next to hers.
“Hickman?” She touches my mouth, brow puckering.
“I just want to look at you for a moment. Is that okay?”
She pushes me away... My stomach drops, but she’s smiling. “Gimme a sec. Let me get rid of this.” Sitting up, she tugs at the robe where it’s caught under her hips. Muttering to herself, she briefly stands, shrugs it away to drop to the floor then, naked save for her long, lovely hair, rolls back to into my waiting arms. “I'd like to look at you too.”
We lie, side by side, facing each other. She travels me with her gaze, lingering over my chest and shoulders, my stomach, then south to where my shaft is doing push-ups.
Her cheeks dimple. “I've often thought it must feel odd being a man. Parts of your body wanting one thing while your head wants another.”
How can I not smile? “Oh, my head wants it too. Don't imagine otherwise. Katya, I've… I've played this in my mind, so often…” Eyes soft, her head tilts… “… Imagined making love with you. I never dreamed there was a chance it would ever happen.”
She slow-blinks, nodding slightly.
“I'm… I’m not usually so nervous with a woman.”
Her brow furrows. “Nerves usually means emotional stakes.” She props herself up on an elbow, looking down at me. “Hickman… I know you want me, but… Are you in love with me?”
There’s not enough air. I can’t speak…
For answer, I roll her into my arms, plant my mouth over hers... Pulling her tight in beside me, I feel the rising cadence of her heartbeat, the heaviness of her breathing…
I kiss her. Open-mouthed, I kiss her. And open-mouthed, she responds, her body arched and ardent. A hand caressing a breast, it’s an easy fit cupping into my palm, the nipple nubbing hard.
