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He squeezed her ass for emphasis, earning an urgent little grunt of appreciation from her mouth, so close to his ear she could have stuck her tongue in it if she’d wanted. “What, a few orgasms ain’t nothing between friends, Tatum. Besides, that was just my fingers. The real fireworks come, so to speak, when my tongue gets involved.”
She recoiled playfully, dragging her sticky body away from his as she placed her hands, palms flat, against his chest. “You keep that tongue away from me, Shane Dixon,” she pretended to protest, even as her ripe, pert breasts heaved and her tongue licked her lips, perhaps subconsciously. Then she gave him a wink and wriggled playfully to her feet, extending both hands to his as their eyes met expectantly. “At least, until after a quick catnap while we both, uh, reload.”
He nodded, body weary even as she helped drag him up off the couch and to his feet. He glanced quietly up at her, then down, admiring the way she’d kept her heels on even as she’d serviced him with that devilish tongue and wicked mouth between his eagerly spread thighs. “Now, doesn’t that just say about all of it?” he remarked, kicking up one heel to reveal the stripes of his socks, gathered baggily around his ankle.
“What says what?”
“You, in your fancy heels and me still in my grubby tube socks.”
She squeezed his hand, and one by one, kicked off her heels until they stood (practically) face to face. Dutifully, he reached down and tugged off his socks, wagging them playfully as she rolled her eyes. “This okay, or is me going barefoot going to turn you off?”
“Believe me when I tell you, Shane Dixon, there’s not a thing you could do to turn me off right now.”
She tugged his hand, playfully dragging him toward the hallway. “Which one is yours?” she asked as they faced the two bedrooms at the end.
He chuckled, nodding toward the door on the right. “The one without the old beer keg for a nightstand, obviously.”
They chuckled, tumbling into his bed, all warm, sticky limbs and shy, dancing eyes. “You’re in luck,” he teased, wriggling against her as she lay flat on her back and ripe as a peach about to be plucked. “I haven’t washed my sheets all week.”
She rolled her eyes and turned to him, a gentle hand caressing his cheek. “You’re in luck, too, Horn Dog.”
“Luckier than you in my bed?”
“Sure, Shane. Look outside … we’ve still got plenty of daylight left for you to watch me make you the happiest jock at Sycamore State.”
“Good,” he murmured. He wriggled into her arms as dreariness robbed the best of his humor, but promised to revive him in more ways than one. “Then you can watch me turn your pussy into a lollipop and suck it ‘til the sun sets.”
She murmured naughtily, as did he, enduring a gentle slap against his chest as she murmured, “Now how am I supposed to sleep with that image rolling around in my head?”
Chapter Fifteen
Tatum
“Shane?”
He stood in the doorway, naked as a jaybird and scratching his navel as if he was all alone in the dorm room, enjoying a bachelor’s night at home between beers, burps, and farts, probably.
“Finally,” he chuckled, all dimples and mirth as two fresh beer bottles clinked in his hand. “I don’t like drinking alone.”
“Me either,” she murmured. She stretched atop his creaking double bed, and peered past him at the light coming in through the big picture window above. “Still plenty of daylight left, Hot Pants.”
“I’m counting on it, Sunshine.”
He sank onto the bed, knees first and then gradually shifting to a sitting position, the lumpy mattress roiling like a rough sea until she, too, sat up across from him, crossing her legs for more than just comfort. She watched his eyes drift down her body, hungry expression drinking in her small breasts and soft, plush belly, and hopefully, the ripe, thick lips that begged to be touched again, teased, and as he’d promised, sucked like a lollipop.
Not that she’d admit that to him, of course. At least, not until after a few sips of beer anyway. “What should we toast to this time?” she asked, wriggling where she sat and feeling the cold bottle in her hot little hand.
He waved the neck of his bottle toward the window at her back, warm sun caressing her bare shoulders and making her murmur anew with fresh, simmering desire. “To sunlight, of course.”
“And plenty of it,” she added, wondering just what her young, cocky lover had in store for her as the afternoon dragged on, one delicious sin at a time. They clinked bottles and she savored a cool, velvet sip between appreciative chuckles. She hadn’t been thirsty after their first toast. Correction: Tatum had been too desperately horny to do anything as innocent as drink a beer while in the same room with sweet, hot Shane. But now that they were lounging, naked and eager in bed once more, she drank deep from the cold, rich beer and let it soothe away what surely must have been the last of her inhibitions.
“How long were we out for?”
He shrugged, the slightest movement shaking the bed and pressing the lumpy mattress against her hungry, desperate sex. “Long enough for me to wake up with a hard-on, that’s for sure.”
She nearly spit out her beer. “Sorry I missed that,” she teased. She admired the way his perfect cock looked even when soft, smooth, and downturned, the purple head resting against his soft white sheets.
He shrugged and stretched like it was no big deal, his lean, wiry body splayed out like sex on a stick and the tidal wave of motion caressing her swollen sex in a way that made her want to ask him what brand it was. “This time ain’t about me, Missy, remember?”
