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David’s smile softens. His eyes—they’re almost tender now. “You’re everything.”
I feel drunk. The champagne from earlier—barely still in my system—feels like it’s all bubbling up, like I’m drinking it all right now.
“You’re beautiful. You’re so, so beautiful, Laura?—”
I kiss him.
It’s a surge of energy, of desire, of something needed and necessary and crucial and?—
I want him. I want him, but more than that, right now, I need him.
I tear at his suit jacket with a ferocity he hadn’t shown me. Where he was tender and gentle, I move fast and desperately.
“David,” I beg.
He nods eagerly, and our lips find each other. We get the rest of his clothes off in a frenzy, barely pulling back to get the tie over his head. We collapse onto the bed, and I cling to him.
“Laura, Laura, Laura,” he groans.
I climb on top of him. David leans back against the pillows, his eyes wide and mouth slack. His chest is bare, and I rub my hands against his pecks. The hair there is soft and dark.
I love—this,I think wildly.I love this.
I sit back a little, pressing my ass on his crotch. I can feel his hardening cock stiffen beneath me.
“You’re such a tease,” he gasps out.
I smile at him, leaning forward. My hair spills over down one side of my face, and a few of the strands tickle his face. He laughs, and I grin at him. Carefully, he brushes my hair aside. He spins a few strands around his fingers.
I begin to rock back and forth. His eyes roll back before he clenches them shut. His grip on my hair tightens.
With only our thin underwear separating us, I can feel how hard he’s getting. I’m growing wetter too, already slick enough to feel empty without him. I want to just grind down until his cock is inside of me, but I wait, the anticipation almost as good.
His head pushes back into the pillow, exposing his long neck. There’s a long vein there, pushing out, and his chest is beginning to heave. His hips aren’t moving much, but a little bit of friction is there when he juts up, just a bit, just enough to drive me wild.
And him, too, apparently.
“Tease,” he accuses again.
I laugh. “Okay, okay. Here’s a little reward.”
Slowly, I reach behind myself and unclasp my bra. It falls on his chest, and I watch his face—eyes widening, mouth parting, cheeks flushing—as he realizes. I’ve been with other men where the act of this would fill me with embarrassment—with insecurity, with uncertainty. Do I look good from this angle? Do my tits hang and dangle in an unpleasing way? Do I look desperate? Do I sound cringey?
With David, that’s never a concern. I don’t have to be uncertain or embarrassed, not with David. Just looking at him, I can tell how much he wants me. How much headoresme.
It might not be the real infatuation that I want, might not be the real feelings that continually fester underneath my skin, almost tangible. I know if it wasn’t for our family walking in on us, we would have broken up that day—I know that all of this, his every look and touch and word, is all on borrowed time.
But hedoeswant me. He does—and if that’s all I’ve got, then I’m damn sure going to enjoy it.
David touches the bra gently and then tosses it aside, grabs me by the waist, and flips us.
I giggle, pressing my hands to his face. I pull him in, and he goes eagerly, kissing me.
Slowly, he begins to kiss down my neck. I sigh, pleased, as he kisses my throat and collarbone. The bed is soft beneath my body, and I feel myself relax in it. Everything feels like bliss. My bones feel good. My muscles, my heart—everything feels gentle. I know some of that is the pleasant evening and the champagne still buzzing in my skin, but mostly, it’s David.
He kisses me, and the heat in my belly warms and warms, like it’s fanning a fire.
David makes his way down lower. His big hands press into my hips, gentle and exploratory on my stomach and thighs. He touches me like he’s going to be quizzed on my anatomy—like he needs to memorize every dip and freckle. He kisses me reverently. His beard scratches into my skin, and it feels like fingernails soft and loving against my scalp, like I’m being soothed to sleep—which contrasts delightfully with the way his lips and tongue are moving, decidedlynotsleep-inducing.
