Her nails dig into my neck and shoulder like she knows what I’m thinking, and she’s reminding me, subtly, that she can’t be broken like this. She squirms eagerly beneath me, also reminding me that she wants me as badly as I want her.
It’s pitch fucking black in here. I need to do something about that. I mean, not because I don’t remember how this is supposed to go or what I’m supposed to put into what, but I just can’t see a damn thing, and I don’t want to ruin this before it even starts by accidentally sticking a finger in Feeney’s eye or something.
I manage to swing my arm around and reach for my phone in my back pocket. I flick the flashlight on and turn it away from us. Feeney blinks into the bright light, but when I set it on the nightstand, facing the other way but still illuminating most of the bed in softer, white light, she doesn’t tell me to turn it off. She stares up at me, her eyes heavy with wonder and concentration battling with wild desire. Her hair is a tangled mess around her face and splayed out on the pillow while the light makes her skin look like porcelain. Her lips are swollen, and I can see the slight red tinge on her chin, right where her skin was rubbed by the stubble on my jawline. I think she might be the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a very long time.
She silently reaches between us and tugs at my shirt. I remember what she said about not making a sound, so I get the message. In response, I rear up and strip it off. Her eyes widen, and a little gasp does escape her as her eyes roam over my chest. The idiotic teenager still lurking in the depths of me somewhere wants to inhale a deep breath or maybe even make my pec flex.
Jesus. Yeah, because stuff like that would impress anyone.
Because there’s space for her to sit up, Feeney yanks her shirt off too. She has a white sports bra on underneath, which is not as sexy since it’s built for utility and comfort, but good lord, it might as well be silk and lace. My mouth goes dry, and my hands sweep up her narrow waist, over her flat, muscled stomach, up to her bra. They splay over her shoulders and back, searching for a clasp, but nothing. Not in the front or back.
Feeney makes a sound near my ear—a tiny exhale that makes my dick feel like it’s going to explode. I keep going, trying to get my fingers under the bottom of the bra, but it’s tight as fuck. It feels like it’s glued to her. Can that honestly be comfortable? I keep working at it, trying to push it up. It rolls, the tight material wrapping over and under and in on itself. I think I’m making things worse.
This time, the noise in my ear isn’t as sexy.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Am I hurting you?”
“No. Here. Let me.”
I lean back and watch as she tucks her hands beneath the bra, tugging it violently until it pops up. She raises her hands over her head, still tugging and jerking, contorting herself into strange positions. I think I even heard her shoulder pop and crack. Her hand grazes my face as she tugs, nearly connecting with my jaw as I jerk back just in time. Finally, the thing comes free. Feeney’s cheeks are red, and she throws the bra across the room. I would, too, if something held me captive like that.
“Hmph,” she sighs. “There.”
There. Yes. There.
Right. There.
I can’t stop looking away from her chest. I know I should look into her face, but I don’t think anyone could look into her face when they’re faced with such beautiful perfection—two twin globes, more than a handful, both perfect and pale with dark nipples that are also pure perfection. They’re wonderfully hard and taut like it’s freezing cold in the room.
Those breasts beg for my hands and mouth, but I can’t seem to move. I’m so focused that I’m frozen, but then Feeney’s fingers curl into my hair as she drags my face to hers. I kiss her furiously, then finally rip away and do what I was too frozen to do before. I lay her back and suckle her throat, memorizing the delicious taste of her skin with my tongue and lips as I cup her breast and roll my thumb over the pert bud. She whimpers, just a hiss of air escaping, and I kiss my way there, down to my hand. I think my brain checks out, and something else takes over. It might have been a long time, and I might have a tendency to overthink things, but my body remembers what it’s supposed to. I roll my tongue around a rosy bud, tasting the sweetness and suckling her gently. Her chest arches up, thrusting her breast into my tongue, and my dick just about explodes.
Feeney isn’t just content to let me have all the fun. Her hands trace over my arms while I worship her, her soft fingertips burning a path as she explores. Just that innocent touch up my arms and over my shoulders makes me see all sorts of bright lights that aren’t coming from the phone on the nightstand.
She trails her fingertips over muscle and veins, then over my shoulders and down. When her index finger brushes over my nipple, I freeze. My dick feels like we’re already nearing the end zone, and I can’t let this be game over before I even get out of my jeans. I know it’s been a long time since my dick saw any action other than my palm, but…but…chicken nuggets.
I force myself away from Feeney’s breast, noticing, of course, how her nipple hardens in the cooler temperature of the room after my mouth leaves it. The hard bud is wet and glistening with my saliva. At that sight, my balls contract and expand. Yes, they really do, and not in a good way. Rather, it’s in the I’m giving you two seconds warning before I blow, and there’s nothing you can do about it kind of way.
“Can I take your pants off?” I whisper-gasp.
Feeney nods.
“And your panties?”
She nods again.
“Can I taste you?”
“Holy bananas,” she whispers thickly. “Yes, if you want to.”
If I want to. If I want to.
I don’t think there’s the slimmest of slim chances I could ever not want to taste her. No. No, there’s none. No chance at all. I realize I’m frozen, and Feeney practically wriggles out from under me and peels her pants off her legs. My hands finally join hers, stripping away her panties.
I have to grind my teeth hard and take a breath, which isn’t easy at the same time, to get myself under control. I don’t think it would be complimentary to lose my shit now. Or maybe…no. No, it would definitely put a damper on things.
But seriously, Feeney is perfect. Beyond perfection. She’s obviously gone the expensive and likely painful route of getting some sort of waxing. I think. No, I know, because when I reach out, daringly, and run my fingers over her, there isn’t any way smoothness like that ever came from a razor. I don’t know where the heat is coming from, but it’s most likely from everywhere—my fingers, her body, my body. My dick’s about to explode, and it’s giving off some weird radioactive vibes. She’s already slick, and when I brush my fingers over her, she exhales loudly and drops back against the pillows.
I fully realize this could be a disaster for me as I’m barely holding it together. Feeney is like a goddess, all glorious perfection, and just the sight of her would be enough to slay any mortal.
“Is…is something wrong?” Feeney whispers.
I realize I’m just sitting here, frozen, staring at her. God, this has to set a new record for creepiness. No wonder she’s unnerved.
“No! I…I’m just…having a bit of a problem.” I lower my eyes down south to the massive bulge in my jeans.