Dear Life(79)

“Can you do me a favor, Snowflake?”

I nod, unsure of what he’s about to ask me.

The feel of his lips press against the nook of my neck and shoulder, soothing me. “Strip off your jeans.”

“T-take them off?” My voice wavers, my nerves on high alert.

“Yes, take them off.” The way he says those four words, with such depth, such velvety smooth insistence, I do just what he says.

With his hand under my thong, his middle finger casually smoothing over the top of my slit, I take my jeans off, kicking them to the side once they’re at my feet. It’s hard not to feel awkward, lying on Carter’s couch, his chest to my back, his dark to my soft, wearing nothing but a shirt and underwear. Does he find this sexy?

“Fuck, Daisy,” he whispers, the faint feel of his scruff against my jaw. “Why did you hide those legs from me for so long? I want my face buried between them.” Even though I don’t know what that is like, I want it too. I simply want. I want Carter. “But I will save that for another day. This shirt though, we’re going to have to do something about it.”

The hand not teasing me with delicious strokes, moves up my stomach, scooting my shirt up along with it. Carter’s head leans over my shoulder, watching with interest as he exposes inch after sinful inch of skin until he gets to my breasts. He leaves the shirt resting under my bra, never tempting to go any higher. I want to scream. I don’t want him to stop.

“Take my shirt off,” I say. The brazenness in my demand actually catches me off guard.

“No,” he responds, shooting me down. A wave of embarrassment washes over me right before his hand falls lower into my thong. “I have to touch you here first.”

With ease, his finger slides along my slit, never pressing too deep, just skimming the surface, exploring. I’ve never been touched like this. Heck, I’ve never touched myself this intimately. The sensation is all new to me, as well as the slickness between my legs, the tingling waves undulating up my back, and the tightness in my stomach like any minute it’s going to bottom out in the most pleasurable way possible.

“Christ, Daisy. You’re so damn wet. This is why you’re so fucking sexy to me. With just a finger passing over you, you’re soaking, ready for more.”

“It’s the way you touch me, talk to me.”

“Mmm,” he hums in my ear. “You like my voice, pretty girl?”

“Yes.” I nod, my head resting on his shoulder as he continues to pass his finger over me, never going deep.

“I’ll remember that, especially when I’m balls deep inside you.” Where my shirt is bunched just below my breasts, he starts to slip his fingers underneath the fabric, his fingers playing with the lace on my bra. The movement stills me, my breath hitching with each pass. “Now that I have my hand where I want it, teasing you, I can’t wait much longer to see your breasts.” No answer needed when it comes to Carter because he takes charge and lifts the rest of my shirt up so it’s around my collarbone, my bra-covered breasts on display.

The chilly air hits me and I can feel my nipples puckering under Carter’s heated touch, his hands exploring the cups of my bra. And with one yank of the fabric, he pulls the cup of my right breast down, letting everything hang out.

“Fuck, yes,” he mumbles, his hand immediately going to my nipple where he takes no time squeezing it.

It’s as if my nipple is connected to the junction between my legs because one little pinch of my nipple has me flying upward, seeking relief from his finger.

“Oh my,” I voice, unsure if that’s sexy or not.

“Do you like it when I squeeze your nipple, Daisy?” He rolls the nub in his fingers with precision, making my body convulse in ways I never thought were possible.

Breathlessly, I answer, “Yes.”

“Good.” He pinches my nipple this time just as his finger rubs along my bundle of nerves, breaking the surface and causing all sorts of sensations to course through me.

“Oh, Carter.” My hand grabs the back of my neck as I arch into his touch. “Oh it feels . . .” My voice dies off as he continues to rub my clit, making little circles with his thumb.

“How does it feel?”

“Like I-can’t-breathe amazing.”

“Then I’m doing my job,” he whispers and kisses my neck, his fingers playing me like an instrument.

Just when I feel like he’s not able to make me feel anything else in this moment with his rumbling voice, his rough, scratchy jawline, and his skillful fingers, he curls his wrist and sends a finger inside me, curving upward. Instinctively, my legs spread apart and my body melts into him, fully giving myself over.

“I want you to remember this,” he says into my ear, his lips kissing my lobe. While he speaks, his fingers pick up their pace, my body igniting into a ball of flame, sensations synapsing every which way. “When you’re not feeling sexy, or pretty, or wanted, remember this moment. Right now, Daisy, with your legs spread, your breathing eratic, your eyes deliciously closed from pleasure, this right here is why you’re so damn sexy to me. You give yourself wholeheartedly over to me without question, which is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Daisy Beauregard, partially naked, writhing in passion, no qualms about me exploring this perfect body. This is why you’re sexy. Don’t ever fucking forget that.”