She nods jerkily. No longer grasping fistfuls of hair, her hands now cup my head, gentle and tender. Is there a hint of guidance, in her touch? Pulling me closer, hinting at a nudge toward her breast. I smile. Cover her breast with my mouth; slight, soft, and firm, it’s a warm globe against my lips. She gasps, a sensual, shaky sound. I flick my tongue against her nipple, and she whimpers something that sounds like my name.
The other one, then. Tongue flicking, circling. Her back arches, pressing her into my mouth.
I pull away, and her damp nipples beg for more. They’re upturned at the tips, with quarter-sized areolae a few shades darker than the pink of her nipples. Freckles dot her breasts liberally. “I love these,” I whisper, kissing a freckle and another and another.
“The—the freckles? Or my boobs?”
“Both. But I was referring to the freckles.” I kiss from freckle to freckle across her chest. “Maybe I’ll just follow the trail of freckles across your whole body until I’ve kissed every single one.”
She whimpers when my tongue drags over her nipple again. “That would…ohhh, oh oh—that would take a long time. I’ve got…a lot of…of freckles.”
I look up at her. “I’ve got time.”
I want to make her feel good. So good. Better than she’s ever felt. I caress her breasts with my hands while kissing her skin, touching my tongue to her myriad freckles on cream-and-silk skin. I drift my touch down, then. From breasts to waist, to hips. Clutch her buttocks, and then the backs of her thighs. Run my hands up the front of her legs, then, with my kisses somewhere just below her breasts but above her abdomen. Hook my fingers in the elastic of her underwear, and her breathing catches on a whimper—but this one sounds nervous, almost fearful, so I release. Over the garment then. Her breathing resumes, still ragged with arousal.
Touch her hip bones. Kiss her belly.
Her hands remain on my head, holding me, following me as I kiss her here and there. I drag a fingertip down from her belly button, and she freezes, tenses, fingers clawing into my scalp.
“Oh god, Wes,” she breathes. She knows where my touch is leading.
Does she want it?
I feel like she wants me to lead her, to take her perhaps out of her comfort zone. She’s not stopping me… and she did, earlier. Slowed us down. And then asked to resume. She’s proven that she’s able and willing to communicate with me what she wants and doesn’t want.
I slide my fingertip, just my index finger of my right hand, over the band of her underwear. Slowly, soooo slowly. Monitoring her every breath, her every expression, I slide my finger lower and lower, millimeter by millimeter.
Until I feel the silk give way, slightly, when I reach the apex of her sex.
Her eyes are open, wide open. Watching.
Lip in her teeth.
Not breathing—and then, all once, her breathing resumes but in short, sharp, shallow gasps.
Down the seam of her sex, over the silk of her underwear, I slide my finger, slowly and slowly. Then, my touch halts, and returns upward.
“Ohhh god, Wes.”
“I can stop, if you want.” I don’t quite smile or smirk, not meaning to tease her. I know she doesn’t want me to.
“Mmmm…” this an inconclusive noise, a hum, neither yes nor no. A shake of her head, a sliver of movement in the negative. “Mmm-mmm. No. Don’t—don’t stop.”
“Sure?” I ask.
She nods, again a barely perceptible motion. “I…I like it.”
“You want more?”
She jerks her chin down. Licks her lips. Nervous. Excited. Aroused. A little afraid. “Yes.”
I trace the seam again, up and down. “Over? Or under?”
A convulsive swallow. “Over?”
Another pass, faster. With a slight increase of pressure at the top. “Like this?”
A whimpering sigh. “Y-yes.”
Her knees knock together. Hips flex. Barely touching her, and she’s nearly there already. A little extra stimulation, and maybe she’ll get there just like this.
“Hold on to me,” I tell her. “Just feel it. Just enjoy it.” I kiss her flesh, just beneath the swell of one breast. “Don’t be afraid, Jolene. I’ve got you. Just…enjoy it. Just let go and let yourself feel it.”
Her eyes close, hands knotting in my hair briefly, spastically, and then gentling to hold my head again. “O-okay. I’ll try.”
I trace her sex again, once more dimpling pressure at the top, where she’ll be most sensitive. Lips to her breast, kissing the globe, licking her nipple. My other hand toys with her other breast, lips on one, fingers on the other. She whimpers, a long high breath.
Hips tense, flex.
More attention and more pressure at the apex, pressing in slightly. Tongue and fingers busily twiddling and tweaking and circling, until she’s gasping and writhing, sinuous and sensual.
Her knees buckle again, and I slide my thigh between her legs, and she instinctively sits, and now her arms are around my neck, clinging for support, head hanging, mouth open. Eyes shut. Back arched, hips flexed forward.
I press my finger against her, then. Press inward with a slight circling motion, and a shocked gasp escapes her. Two fingers, then, middle and index, pressed in against her at the top of her sex, and she’s whimpering with each pressing circle.
“Oh god, Wes,” she breathes. “That feels…” she trails off, mouth dropping open and trembling as I increase pressure and speed.
“Tell me,” I murmur. “How does it feel?”
“Good,” she whispers. “So good. Too good.”
She’s sitting on my knee, and her hips move involuntarily. I don’t rush. Let it be slow, let it rise naturally. No hurry. I reach up and rake my fingernails over her scalp while my tongue circles her breast, and she cries out at this. So I do it again, and this time, accompany the scrape of fingernails over scalp and suctioning kiss to her nipple with a firm touch to her sex, circling consistently now.
I hear her swallow hard, and then the sigh becomes a choked gasp, and her buttocks slide against my leg as her need drives her to grinding against my swirling fingers.
“Wes!” she whimpers.
“Keep going?” I ask.
“Yes!” she cries. “Please. Please!” She’s rocking against my touch, now, and I match her fervency with the touch of my fingers, pressing against her and circling faster yet. “I’m—I’m gonna—Wes, ohh god Wes…I feel like I’m going to…”
A loud, shrill cry, then.
“I’m going to explode, Wes!”
“Good,” I growl against her breast. “Show me. Don’t stop it. Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you, Jo. I’ve got you.” I move my touch against her until she’s thrusting against my fingers and her spine is arched and head is thrown back.
“Wes!” she cries, her voice breaking. “Oh my god—Wes!”
A Good Day; A Bad Day
Jolene
I’m on fire.
My skin boils, feels too tight on my bones. My head is fuzzy, crazed. My pulse is a hammering crescendo. I feel this ocean of titanic pressure building inside me—it’s centered low, just below the pit of my belly. As the pressure builds, a heat builds with it, and this heat radiates from my sex, between my thighs.