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His tongue moved out, teasing over the seam of my lips for a second, seeking entrance, which I allowed on a small sigh, my head falling back, my breasts pressing harder into his chest, the nipples hardening, the weight of them somehow feeling like it was increasing.
His tongue slid to mine, the contact making my hips jerk, grinding down on him, letting me feel the proof that his need was as pressing as my own, his hard cock straining against the confines of his pants, pressing into the material of my panties, already wet with need.
On a needy whimper, my hips shifted away, then ground down into him again, needing the friction, needing the sweet promise of release.
His hand slid down, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my ass, dragging me closer, making his cock slide upward, pressing into my clit with each pass.
“Quin,” I whimpered against his lips, feeling him pull away, but only so he could lower his head down, running his lips down the side of my neck, making a shudder course through my system as I felt the tip of his tongue tease over the sensitive skin, as his stubble scraped in its wake, a combination that drove me deeper into the need, until it felt like a clawing thing, like a gripping sensation across my stomach and lower. “Please,” I begged, hands sliding from his shoulders, down over his chest, his stomach, snagging the hem of his tee, and trying to drag it up.
He moved back, reaching for the back of his shirt, helping me drag it off, hissing out his breath as my greedy fingers moved over his chest, then between the deep ridges of his abdominal muscles, feeling them twitch slightly under my touch, sending another shot of desire to my core, finding it almost unbearably hot to know I could affect him even a little bit like he affected me.
His hands slid around my sides, then down my back, reaching until he grabbed the bottom of my tee.
“Arms up, babe,” he demanded, voice all smoke and gravel in his desire, a sound I knew I would hear in my dreams every night for the rest of my life.
My arms felt weighted, lifting too slowly until they were straight in the air.
I expected his hands to be as greedy as mine, to grab at the fabric, and drag it up impatiently.
But somehow, in the heat of the moment, he found patience, inching the fabric up, eyes taking in each inch of skin as it got exposed, like I was a present worth savoring the unwrapping of, like each sliver of me was worthy of his utmost attention.
The tee slid up over my belly, across my nipples, then finally up my arms, discarded carelessly to the floor at the side of the bed.
“Fuck,” he growled, shaking his head as his eyes moved down, drinking me in.
His fingers whispered up my sides, tickling over my ribs, then trailing a path inward, the tips of his fingers teasing over the soft undersides of my breasts before his wide palms closed over the swells completely, fingers curling, cupping, claiming my skin.
I felt that way too, claimed.
In that moment, I was as fully his as he was mine.
If only for the moment.
His fingers shifted to the sides, allowing his thumbs to stroke across the hardened buds of my nipples, working them in soft circles until they strained so hard that the tightness was painful.
Then and only then did his head dip as he arched me back slightly so his lips could close around one of the peaks, sucking it deep, rolling his tongue around it until I was whimpering, until my hips were a shameless, insistent rhythm against his cock.
His mouth shifted, creating the same torment to my other nipple as the pressure seemed to settle in deep, twisting, tightening, threatening to explode, to leave me in pieces afterward.
“Quin, please,” I begged, pushing against his chest, allowing room for my hands to slide down his stomach, and find the button and zip to his slacks, working them with clumsy fingers, frustratingly getting the material snagged for a second before it finally pulled free.
My hand slid inside, palm closing over the head of his cock over his boxer briefs, a bead of wetness there that made my sex clench hard.
My fingers moved upward, trying to grab for the waistband of his briefs, wanting to drag them down, free him, let me finally feel him slide inside me, put an end to the twisting torment inside.
“Wait, baby,” he said, voice deeper even than a moment before as his hands sank into my hips, pushing, sliding me off his lap and to the side on the bed.
I moved to sit up, to try to reach for his pants and briefs as he twisted to kneel down by my thighs. But his hand pressed into my lower belly, keeping me still, urging me to stay put.
