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She stepped back, pressing against the counter.
Safe from the water dripping down his front. Abi was talking, saying something that sounded apologetic, and it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world for her to help him take off the tee shirt. For him to lift it over his head and have her shake it out and lay it over the back of a chair.
But then his jeans were also wet.
“This is a really bad idea,” she said again, and he realized she was waiting for a response. Or maybe, she was teasing. In any case, the look on her face was one of challenge, one that said she very much wanted him to ignore the obvious. That it absolutely was a bad idea. He was technically in the middle of his work day and he had no idea what she was supposed to be doing. Surely, there were children who needed to make sheep out of cotton balls and glue. However, he wasn’t going to say that out loud because he realized that that was reducing her job to a ridiculous and insulting degree.
“Abi,” he started, but he didn’t know what he should say, ultimately.
“We should stop, probably,” she said, but she was working his belt free as she said it.
“Should we?” he said, it seemed he was speaking from somewhere far away. Abi’s eyes flicked to his, her face was full of playful desire. She made a show of shaking her head back and forth to indicateno, her grin lascivious. He laughed, catching on to the game, “You don’t want to stop.”
“Do you?” she said, her hands leaving his wet jeans and going to the belt of the robe. She untied the robe as though she were unwrapping a gift. Her movements remained careful, measured. As though she were making sure he knew she was savoring every second. His mouth was dry.
“Do I what?” he said, his hands were finding the counter on either side of her. He grasped it for two reasons: for support and to get closer to her. His mouth was inches from hers now.
“Do you want to stop?” she said, the sash of the robe falling, she didn’t open the robe further, just let the fabric fall naturally. He saw that beneath the robe she was wearing some kind of cotton slip that managed to be cut both low and high and his grip tightened on the counter. Abi’s fingers brushed the bare skin just above the curve of her breast, fingers just barely touching the neckline of the slip.
“Are you enjoying teasing me?” he said, his voice thick with arousal. He wasn’t sure how he managed to refrain from jerking her up onto the counter.
Abi’s laugh was husky and low, and it nearly brought him to his knees.
“Abi,” he said, because saying her name was one of the few things he could manage at the moment.
“Fuck me in my kitchen, Ilan,” Abi said, her lips so close to his ear that he could feel her breath on his neck.
His lips formed a word that looked likefuck, but the ability to speak had been taken from him. His fingers left the counter, found her waist, and somehow he was lifting her, and she was letting him, her legs opening to cradle him in the warmth between her thighs. Abi moaned low, her hips inching forward on the counter, and he felt himself harden against the uncomfortably wet denim. Before he could do anything about it, her hands were between their bodies, her nimble fingers plucking open buttons and peeling the stiff fabric away from his skin.
Ilan’s breath hissed as the air hit his wet thighs. His fingers jerked against the linen robe and he felt triumph surge as he bared her shoulder. Abi shimmied her upper body and the robe fell away further, one of the straps of the slip catching on her shoulder before tumbling down. Ilan’s mouth closed over a spot at the hollow of her throat, and she groaned, rocking against him.
“Shit, Abi,” he said, not sure what he intended to say after the curse. Not sure there was anything to say after the curse.
“Faster,” she panted, her fingers closing over his hard dick. He felt pleasure rip through him at the touch of her warm fingers and his hips bucked into her fisted hand. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to embarrass himself.
“So fucking impatient,” he said, his lips against her collarbones. Abi’s other hand was in his hair, holding his head against her skin.
“So fucking slow,” she complained, her fingers tugging on his ear, playfully, but clearly directing him. He took the invitation, his teeth and tongue blazing a trail to her bare breast. Her fingers left his dick, tugging the cotton fabric of the slip up from her lap to expose her bare sex.
“I love how smooth your pussy is,” he said, it was something he’d noticed that first night in the car, even though he hadn’t actually seen it. Just the feel of that smooth, warm flesh did things to him.
“You talk too much, you know that,” she said, her fingers doing the work to open her lips, exposing her body to him further.
“I’m getting that,” he said, taking his dick in hand, fingers gripping it, pumping it because he had to or explode. He stepped into her, paying close attention to her exposed pussy as she leaned back on the counter, pressing her head into the cabinet behind her. Abi caught her bottom lip between her teeth, rolling her eyes quickly in pleasure before she tucked her chin to watch what he was doing more closely. He stepped as close to her as he could, and her hand went to the counter edge so that she could leverage her hips. Her other hand stayed on her pussy, her fingers working her body. Her thighs widened infinitesimally.
Ilan couldn’t help the smirk. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching this woman open for him. Her robe had fallen off her body, the slip was still there, but only just. One of her breasts was exposed, and she was naked from the waist down—the picture of desire. He pressed his hips, carefully, so carefully nudging against her pussy with the head of his dick. She moaned as it touched her, easing along her folds but not really pressing any deeper.
She wriggled her body on the counter, and he chuckled, the sound proprietary as hell. He nudged his dick all the way up her pussy to her swollen clit, painting around it, nudging against it. She panted, her hips rocking in small, tight circles. Her hair fell around her shoulders as she shook her head, making an encouraging sound
“You want this?” he said, watching her face because if he kept looking at what he was doing with their bodies he was going to stop playing around.
“Ilan,” she said, his name a whine.
“Tell me, Abi,” he said, and he was a little impressed with himself that he could sound so in control when he was barely keeping it together. He traced her face with his fingers, brushing her hair away from her cheek. Her thighs opened and closed against his, and he couldn’t help the grin.
“You’re such a bastard,” she said, her hand leaving her sex to clutch at his arm, his neck, his hips, anywhere she could think of to urge him home.
“Say it,” he coaxed, fascinated by the way her skin flushed with desire. His fingers traced along the curve of her breast, his thumb stroking along the peak of her nipple.
