Then she’s in front of me, all bare skin and thin silk. Her nipples are begging to be sucked, her belly is tight, and her hands twist together in front of her panties, as if she wants to hide herself from me and is trying not to.
I step forward, deciding to give her hands something to do. “Hands on my shoulders like before,” I tell her. And then I add, a little sternly, “No hiding from me. You’re fucking beautiful and I’ll stare at every inch of you until I get my fill.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders again, a little smile playing across her mouth. I can guess why.
“You like being called beautiful?” I ask, brushing my lips across her forehead. Then across her cheeks. Her eyelashes flutter in girlish happiness and I both curse and thank every man that came before me who didn’t give this woman every compliment and tender word she deserved. It’s ridiculous that she’s twenty-one and she’s never been properly petted and praised, and yet thank God, because otherwise I wouldn’t be the one in front of her, here and now, with my fingers tickling gently along the top of her panties.
“You are beautiful, Zenny,” I say with my lips still against her cheek. My fingers slide beneath the elastic border and her belly tenses even more. “Your face is stunning, your body is a work of art. But it’s you I can’t stop thinking about, how you ask for things and how you argue, how you tease and how you rant and how you glow when you talk about what matters to you. When I say the word beautiful, sweetheart, know I mean it.”
She nods, about to answer, when the pad of my middle finger brushes against a narrow triangle of short curls.
“Oh Zenny,” I say, my cock giving an abrupt, painful throb. “Oh baby.”
“What is it?” she whispers, tilting her head to meet my eyes.
“On the couch,” I say hoarsely, pulling my hand from her panties and giving her ass a little swat. “On your back.”
She moves backward, turning uncertainly toward the living room as she does and giving me a view of her perfect ass. Firm enough to curve, soft enough to bounce a little as she walks, sloping into strong thighs and up into hips made to have my hands curled around them. I can already imagine the heart shape her ass will make when she’s bent over for me.
Fuck. Me.
With a stilted breath, she lowers herself onto the sofa, dark curls like a halo around her head on the cushions and her bra and panties pulling tight against her skin as she arranges herself. And I prowl up to her like a cat, like a predator, like a hungry man coming to a banquet table.
“Should I take off my—” Zenny’s thumbs hook in her panties, but I still her movements with a steely look.
“That’s for me,” I say. “I want it.”
“You want to be the one to take off my underwear?” Her thumbs don’t move, so I squat down beside the sofa and give one little nip with my teeth, which sends her hands up to her chest. And then I keep my mouth at her hip as I speak, letting my breath warm and tickle the skin there.
“I’m not going to take off your underwear. I’m going peel this silk off you like the skin of a fruit, and then I’m going to eat you. I’m going to suck on you like a plum. I’m going to unwrap you like a Christmas present and then you’ll see what a happy boy I am.”
She’s breathing hard, her copper-tinted eyes dilated and dark on mine.
“But first,” I say, turning my lips to drop a real kiss on her hip, flicking my tongue along the edge of her panties, “there are some things you need to know.”
A flicker of impatience across her face; an involuntary press upwards with her hips. “Sean, we’ve been over this—”
“No,” I murmur, moving my mouth closer to her navel, which silences her. “This is different. I know you trust me, you know I trust you. And now it’s time for me to show you what I would do if you were mine, my own sort-of virgin.”
Her belly quivers under my lips. “Yes,” she says, her voice dry until she wets her lips. “Yes…I…I want to be that. Yours to do with as you like.”
“You are, darling. You are.” I chase a finger up her thigh until she gasps and jerks underneath me. “My little virgin. That boy before, he didn’t do a good job with you, did he? He didn’t know what a gift he had in your body, in your sweet little cunt.”
My finger gets to the edge of her panties where her thigh meets her body, and her legs part of their own accord. “He didn’t tell you all the things you need to know.”
Her back arches as my fingers skate over her center, light as a tickle, and to the other edge of her panties. “N-no, he didn’t.”
I tsk. “He should have known such a smart girl would want to know everything first. He should have known that you would have wanted to hear about your cunt. And about the parts of him that would hurt and ache until you made them feel better.”
Her breath hitches and her eyes go glassy. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Oh yes, sweetheart.” I can see the pout of her cunt through her panties, the tempting secrets underneath. And when I run a finger straight up her middle—fuck, yes—she’s wet, wet enough to leave a sweet little spot on her panties as I press them against her flesh. “I’ll tell you everything.”
Chapter 13
I start stroking her pussy again over her panties and she inhales instead, trying to move toward my hand.
“This is your cunt, sweetie, and it needs to stay happy. It needs to be licked and kissed and petted. Doesn’t it ache now? Doesn’t it need something?”
I see the moment she decides to play along with my little teacher game—a flash of thought, chased by an eager bite of her lip. She nods at my question, parting her legs even farther.
My fingers slide up the silk-covered folds to the swollen tip of her clit, which I then give a firm circle. Her back bows off the cushions as her mouth gapes in a silent moan.
“This is your pretty little clit, isn’t it?” I say, circling it with the kind of pressure that sends her toes curling. “It needs to be played with when it gets stiff and needy like this, baby. It needs to be rubbed.”
“Yes,” she swallows, eyelashes fluttering. “Oh God.”
“And all that wet—you feel it, don’t you?” My fingers echo my words, finally sliding beneath the edge of her panties.
She gasps. “Y-yes.”
I play with her for a minute, running clever fingers along the slick skin. “When it gets wet like this, that means it needs attention. It needs to be fucked.”
I pull my fingers out—relishing her whimper of protest as I do—and then I wrap my hands around the sides of her panties and tug them down. “I’ve been dreaming of this cunt since the gala,” I tell her roughly, my eyes on the vee between her legs that’s appearing as I peel off the silk. “I need to see it now. It’s all I can think of, it’s the thing I wake up wanting—”
I break off because I’ve worked her panties down her thighs and to her knees, and once the silk is past her feet, she’s all mine to see. All mine to look at and to play with and to taste and to fuck, and Jesus, that feeling is so heady, like a slug of whiskey, like a shot of morphine, burning up my veins and blurring my vision.