Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(50)

“Yeah?” I ask when she doesn’t respond. Jesus, did my voice just crack?

“Hot,” she says.

I deserve a medal, I really do. Because I don’t kiss her, even though every single part of my body is demanding that I do.

And then I feel her breath on my ear. Her lips on my neck.

There goes my self-control.

I tilt my head toward her, my free hand cupping her cheek, feeling her smooth skin as her lips explore my neck. She moves slowly, her lips never breaking contact with my skin as she leans toward me. Over me. And then her lips are on mine, and I guess I don’t deserve that medal after all, because I’m kissing her back, my fingers tangled in her hair.

She has the wherewithal to move both of our glasses to the table, freeing our hands, and then our hands are everywhere.

Her arms are around my neck, her nails clawing at the skin at my nape, and I realize that it’s the first time she’s really touched me. The first time that she’s initiated.

She wants me.

The thought sends me through the roof, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands on her waist, on her back … and not move them to the places that I’m dying for them to be.

As though reading my thought, she arches into me, wiggling restlessly, and I hope to God I’m not reading the signs wrong. That I’m not going to scare her off.

I lift one hand to the back of her neck, keeping her head still so my tongue can circle hers as I slowly move the other up over her rib cage, brushing for one heartbreaking moment against her breast before settling my palm against her collarbone, my fingers toying with the strap of her tank top.

“These stupid tiny shirts drive me crazy, you know,” I say against her lips.

I feel her smile. “Yeah? Even though they’re not pink and couture?”

“They’re little,” I say, wrapping my fingers around a strap. “I’ve always wondered how much give they have. How hard I’d have to tug to break one.”

“Sounds painful,” she says, gasping against my mouth as my fingers drift infinitesimally lower on her chest.

“I guess we don’t have to break it. We could simply remove it,” I say.

I hold my breath then, knowing this is the moment when she’ll either send me to the moon or cut bait and run.

She freezes and starts to draw back, and I stifle a groan of disappointment even as I school my features into a mask of understanding. Because I do understand. I do.

Stephanie pulls back just enough to smile shyly at me. “I wouldn’t mind if you broke it.”

I close my eyes for a second and pray that I’m not dreaming. Her mouth is on mine again, and she rocks her hips against mine. Nope. Definitely not dreaming.

Even though I have permission, I’m determined not to rush her, and I let my fingers continue their playing, alternating between rubbing the backs of my fingers against the skin of her shoulder and plucking at the strap, torturing us both.

I release her lips long enough to slide my mouth down to join my fingers, licking and nibbling at her collarbone, her shoulder, before I let my mouth brush against the swell of the top of her breast.

We’re not even close to the good stuff, and yet we both groan, her back arching into me as she offers her breasts up to my hands, to my mouth. I hook the fingers of both hands under those tiny straps and slowly ease them down her shoulders, exposing her breasts inch by creamy inch until I’m one tiny tug away from exposing her nipples.

I stop then, moving my hands down to her waist, leaving her arms semi-pinned by her tank top as I ravage the top of her breasts with sweet kisses. I’ve known from day one that she’s beautiful, but this is beyond any fantasy I’d ever had of her. And I’ve had more than a few.

I suck and lave her skin until we’re both panting and her fingers are in my hair urging me forward. Urging me down.

I let my tongue snake beneath the thin fabric, coming so close to her nipple but not quite, and she cries out. I do the same thing on the other side, refusing to give her what she wants until she asks for it.

“Ethan,” she says, her voice little more than a breath. “Ethan.”

It’s enough for me.

I tug the tank top down to her waist, and she’s fully exposed to me. As soon as the cool air hits her nipples, she lifts her hands to cover herself, and the sight of her tiny hands on her not-tiny boobs has me wanting to explode.

“Don’t,” I say hoarsely. “Let me see. Let me touch.”

Her eyes are wide and scared, and I simply meet her gaze, asking her to trust me.

Finally she gives a small nod, moving her hands to my shoulders. I move slowly, giving her time to back away. But she doesn’t, and when my tongue makes that first pass over her nipple, I think it’s going to kill both of us.

I lose track of how long I tease, giving her long licks alternating with playful pecks until she’s writhing in my lap, panting for more. Only then do I wrap my mouth around her and suckle, breathing in the sweet smell that is Stephanie while I feast on the part of her anatomy that’s been haunting me every goddamned day.

Her hands are doing some wandering of their own, and until I feel her tugging at my undershirt I scarcely notice that she’s discarded my tie and unbuttoned my dress shirt. Giving the tip of her breast one last long lick, I move my hands to her waist, setting her back on the couch long enough for me to remove my shirt. Her tank top is still around her waist, and the sight of her topless paired with those camouflage pants is so ridiculously sexy I almost wish she’d kept the boots on.